Love Seat

The first time Amanda saw it, she knew her life would never be the same again.

She was in Woolstone's Bookstore, browsing the shelves and contemplating her life. Because of the latter, she hadn't come across any books on the former that stood out to her, she could barely even focus on titles and was actually just wandering aimlessly. She felt lost, pointless and aimless, so the wandering matched her inner state perfectly.

Amanda had always felt like she was different from everyone she knew, though she tried really hard to be the same. She just didn't understand how to be the same. Everyone else knew how to talk to each other, how to make and laugh at jokes, how to discuss ideas and emotions, and she just... didn't. She found it hard to relate to other people in most ways.

She was a mid-20s white woman with an average figure, medium length brown hair and brown eyes. She wasn't close to her family, and didn't really have any friends. She lived by herself and worked from home, so she didn't have to engage with other people in person very often. She devoured books and TV shows and movies in the hopes of learning illusive, 'human' traits, but it was like watching nature documentaries; the people in them might as well have been another species entirely.

In the times that she had to engage with other people, particularly in social settings, she often wished that she could learn chameleon traits, and slowly merge with the background until no one could see she was there. Otherwise, they would try to talk to her, and expect her to know how to talk back to them. It made her and them feel uncomfortable, so she tried to avoid it at all costs.

She often thought that if she could just figure out how to talk to people, she would have a lot of interesting things to say. She had so many interests: sci fi and speculative fiction, dinosaurs, early Greek and Egyptian history, horror movies. And she was able to chat online on social media and forums about all of these topics, without any issues. But as soon as she was in front of a person or worse yet, people, everything she knew flew out of her head and out the nearest window. It was stressful.

Amanda filled her apartment with things. She had always felt most comfortable with things. Knick knacks and tchotchkes and collectibles. Furniture and plants and books. Shelves and tables and wall art. Appliances and dishware and fridge magnets. Things she could look at and use and arrange just how she liked them. Things didn't expect anything from her, she didn't have to act a certain way or be anything other than what she was. It was refreshing and freeing. She could just be, with things.

But she had never felt any big emotions; her things certainly never inspired any in her. They made her feel safe, but that wasn't a big feeling. And she thought that she wanted to feel something big. Or that she should want to. She thought that she should want to feel big things and be like the people on TV. To be different than she was. So most of her life was a struggle with who she was and who she thought she should be but didn't know how to be. She felt like there should be more to life, but she didn't have more, and she didn't know where to get it. So she would often wander in the hopes that she would stumble across it.

And then, that day in Woolstone's, she did. She rounded the end of a shelf in a tucked away corner of the shop, empty of other people, and there it was. All of a sudden everything made sense for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever.

It had smooth curves with rounded arms and back, and sturdy legs. It was a deep blue, almost navy, with glistening silver rivets all along the front and sides. Its seat was so thick and alluring, Amanda wanted to sink into it and never leave. It was a chair, but it was so much more than just a chair. It was a thing of dreams.

She walked up to it, approaching slowly so as to drink in every detail, and placed her hand on its soft backrest, appreciating the feel of its rich microsuede texture so much that she issued an audible gasp. She circled the chair, running her hand over it as she moved, mesmerized by its grace and beauty. The chair's very being was an invitation to Amanda, and she couldn't wait to accept. When she reached the front again, she turned around and slowly lowered herself into it, savouring every second until her bottom met its seat and she was enveloped by its warm embrace.

She placed a hand on each armrest and gently started rubbing and kneading the fabric beneath her hands, almost as if in a trance. She was mesmerized by the thing in which she now sat. Amanda could feel the fabric of its arms getting warmer beneath her hands, as though the chair were reacting as strongly to her as she was to it. It was a sensation she'd never felt before: mutual mesmerization, and it hit her like a tonne of bricks. She felt a wave of emotion run through her; feelings flowed throughout her body, in places that she didn't know she could have feelings in. She felt things that she had only read about or seen dramatized on screen. All of it new, all of it because of the chair. All of it big. These were the big feelings she'd been missing.

They scared her. She was at once so overwhelmed by the breadth and newness of these feelings that she jumped from the chair and ran out of the store. She didn't know how to handle big, she wasn't prepared for big, so she was forced to retreat to the one place she felt safe in order to regroup. She ran all the way back to her apartment, locked herself in, and breathed in the comfort of her things while she tried to sort out the thoughts in her head and the remnants of the big feelings still lingering in her body.

But she had trouble clearing her thoughts because all she could think about was the chair, and with it as a beacon of big in her mind, the strange new feelings continued to course through her body. What was this? Why was this?

Amanda went about the rest of her day, tidying her apartment, making herself a favourite, delicious meal, and the chair remained at the forefront of her mind. She watched TV, she thought of the chair, she tried to read a book, she thought of the chair. She checked her favourite subreddits, she thought of the chair. It got even stronger when she went to bed; she could see it vividly in her mind, glistening and beautiful, and it produced intense feelings of what she could only describe as longing. Is that what it was? Did she long for the chair? She had never longed for anything else before in her life, but it seemed as if the chair had completely captivated her.

Lying in bed and thinking of it, with the longing for it coursing through her, Amanda was compelled to touch herself. Touching herself, making herself feel good in that way, was nothing new. She did it all the time; with her fingers, with vibrators, with the dryer. It felt good and she liked to feel good. But nothing had ever compelled her to do it before. She usually didn't think of anything or anyone when doing it. So this was new.

She put her hand into her underpants and pictured the chair, its rich colour and soft fabric, its shiny rivets and perfect height. She moved her fingers in and out of herself and imagined she was naked and sitting on the chair with her fingers inside of herself. She imagined the chair arms closing around her and brushing against her erect nipples, the warm, soft fabric playing against her sensitive skin.

Amanda rubbed her finger over and around and against her clit and imagined that she was splayed over one of the arms of the chair, moving back and forth over the cold, hard rivets, the bumps and ridges of each sending waves of pleasure through her pulsing bean.

She was breathing hard, writhing around in her bed, thoughts of the chair making her whole body feel like a live wire. She needed it, she wanted it, she longed to feel it under her and against her and around her.

All of a sudden, the pressure that had been building within her felt like it exploded out of her, causing her to break into a million pieces and form back again in a heartbeat. She saw colours and stars behind her eyes and thought blissfully of nothing. She might have made a noise, but she wasn't sure. When she came back to herself, her hand, still between her legs, was soaked, as was her bedding and her tangled clothing. She was still breathing heavily but felt lighter than she had in as long as she could remember. Whenever she had touched herself before, it had never been like this. This was new and big and all because of the chair.

Amanda decided she needed to see the chair again. She wouldn't run away from it or her feelings this time, she would allow herself to feel everything. Whatever the chair gave her, she would accept. She soon fell asleep in her orgasm soaked bed with a smile on her face, knowing that she would see her chair again when she woke up.

The next day was a Sunday, and the bookstore opened a bit later than usual. Amanda spent the morning in a nervous, jittery state, trying to get ready for the day but counting the seconds until she could see her chair again. She couldn't believe how much had changed in less than 24 hours, how much she had changed. She now felt she knew what all of the romantic songs and movies were about, because she was pretty sure that she was in love with the chair. Her feelings were so powerful, and she could think of nothing else, and if she had learned anything from her years of studying humanity, that was what love was and what it felt like. Big.

Finally, it was nearly time for the store to open, so Amanda set out on foot, trying not to let her excitement force her into a run. She wanted to be cool, calm and collected, and not sweaty, when she saw her chair. In an age, she reached the store and rushed past the friendly assistant who had only just unlocked the door and greeted her. Amanda did not notice or acknowledge the worker's presence, so intent on getting to her destination.

And then, there it was. When she saw it, it was as if everything else around her stilled and slowed, and all she could see was it. Still nestled in the same, tucked away corner it was yesterday, still resplendent in its jewel tone blue and shiny rivets. She felt as drawn to it as she was the day before -- if anything it was even more enticing -- and she moved over to sit in it, reverently. It offered the perfect amount of support, was deliciously comfortable, and felt so perfectly right. Her heart was full.

Her feelings for the chair were so strong and pure and all consuming. Amanda didn't think she would ever get to experience such things, and she reveled in them now. With her body encased in her beloved chair, she felt a sense of peace and fulfilment that had until then evaded her. She leaned back and let it wash over her.

Soon, her hands moved to stroke the armrests, and Amanda was suddenly struck by mental images of her masturbatory fantasies of the night before. She blushed, deeply, and wondered if the chair was aware of that particular effect it had on her. In response to the turn her thoughts had taken, she felt an answering tightness in her groin. Oh, how she wished she could make her fantasies a reality! Just then, as if to prove the futility of her desires, a couple of women rounded the corner of one of the shelves, chatting quietly to each other and browsing the stacks.

Amanda practically huffed in frustration. How would she ever get to be truly alone with her chair? She could stay here from opening until close, but there would always be other people in the store, people who could find their way to this corner at any second. Besides, she was too risk averse, too terrified of the consequences, to take those kinds of chances anyway. No, she needed absolute privacy in order to feel comfortable enough to make love to her chair. Because that is what it would be, she knew, when she was finally able to act on it: making love. And the need for it burned to her core.

She felt she needed to get the chair out of the store, but she wasn't sure how to make it a reality. It was a bookstore, not a furniture store, this chair was here for use by the customers who wanted to relax and read a page or two before committing to a purchase (the thought of which made Amanda feel squeamish, she didn't even want to think of the countless butts who had been seated before her). The chairs weren't for sale, she was sure of that.

So how, then? She shifted to lean her face against the soft fabric of one of the elegant side pieces that jutted out majestically from the backrest, and wracked her brain. How, how, how? Aside from burglary, which she would not resort to even if she knew how to pull it off, she was stumped for ideas. There was just no way she could think of to possibly get this chair out of the bookstore and to her apartment.

Amanda stayed at the store for most of the day, snuggled in her chair, enjoying the feel of it around her and under her. She tried to stifle any feelings of arousal that surfaced, and instead just tried to enjoy the pleasant closeness of her beloved. She was more or less left alone; a few other people wandered past after the women in the morning, but they paid her no attention and quickly moved on to other parts of the store. She mostly let her mind wander and her hands finger the soft material, but every once in a while she returned to the problem of getting the chair to her house. No solutions came to her.

Finally, it was time to leave; her stomach was growling and her bladder was shouting its need, and she could ignore neither any longer. She would have to come better prepared next time. She stood up and took a few photos of the gorgeous seat, so she would have something tangible to look at that evening while she pleasured herself. Then, after looking around to make sure no one could see her, she bent over and placed a gentle kiss on the top of the backrest.

"I'll be back soon, my love," Amanda whispered, before she hurried home.

That evening, an idea occurred to her. She knew it could not possibly be the same as her darling chair, but what if she found an exact replica? Then she could at least have it at her home to fulfil her sexual desires, and she could still visit the real thing at Woolstone's whenever she wanted. It seemed to her to be the perfect solution to the situation at hand, the best outcome in an imperfect state of affairs.

Amanda pulled out her phone and used one of the photos she'd taken of the chair to do an online search. She was immediately inundated with image after image of identical looking chairs. The same rich blue, the same shiny rivets, the same high, curved back and arms, the same sturdy legs. Excitement filled her as she selected one that could be delivered within the hour. She was going to have her own chair that very evening! She pushed the button to confirm her order and then realised she had a whole hour to wait. It was agonising!! She practically vibrated with anticipation, the eagerness coursing through her.

To pass the time, she pulled up one of the photos of the chair again and sat on her bed, holding the phone aloft in one hand while she put the other down her pants to enthusiastically rub her already pulsing clit. Looking at the image while she touched herself heightened her arousal to such a degree that she soon came, breathing heavily and flooding her hand and her clothing with her own ejacuate. But she still had time to wait, her replacement chair was still 45 minutes from delivery, and her excitement at its imminent arrival was no less than before she wanked, so she figured she might as well do it again. Starting slower this time, her drenched fingers gently nudged her still engorged bean, while her other hand kept the picture of the chair in front of her eyes. The pressure built and soon crashed over again, but she kept going. Again, and again, build and release, never taking her eyes off the graceful form of her chair. By the time the front door buzzer announced the arrival of the furniture delivery people, Amanda had cum five times.

After buzzing them in, she quickly arranged her disheveled clothing and hair, and washed her juices off of her hand. She opened her door and two men soon entered, carrying the plastic covered form of her replacement chair.

"Where would you like this, miss?" one of them asked her.

"Uh, in here, the living room," she answered, trying not to hop up and down with impatience for them to place the chair and leave her alone with it.

They followed her into the living room and set it down in the spot she gestured to.

"Do you want us to remove the plastic for you?" the other one asked.

"No, that's ok, I can do it. Uh, thank you," she responded.

The delivery men shrugged at one another and turned and left. Amanda locked the door behind them and let out a huge sigh of relief. Finally, she could be alone with her chair.

She returned to the living room and clapped her hands with delight. There, under the layers of protective plastic, was her replacement chair. The chair that would allow her to act on her newfound feelings without fear of capture or embarrassment. And it was all hers.

She started tearing into the plastic, trying to pull it off gently but also in such a rush to see what was beneath. It felt like it took forever; there was more tape than she expected and it was difficult to remove. At last, the final piece of plastic came away and the chair stood unencumbered in her living room. She looked at it and... was disappointed.

It wasn't the same as her chair. It looked the same. The same blue fabric, the same rivets, the same form and legs. But it wasn't the same. She had known that it wouldn't be exactly the same, but she had thought that the identical appearance would make up for any differences in feeling. But it was just a replica, a poor imitation of the original.

Amanda didn't know what to do. She was heartbroken that her plan, on which she'd placed so much expectation, did not work out as hoped. Wiping away a tear, she decided to try to sit in the chair, and see if it invoked any of the same feelings as the other chair. She lowered herself into it, feeling the comfortable cushioning beneath her and sighed, this time in frustration. It wasn't the same.

Dejected, she folded over, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. What a disappointment! She threw herself back so her head was touching the backrest and her hands were on the arms, nearly stomping her feet on the floor in anger. But then she noticed something; with her eyes closed, the chair felt like the other one. She stroked the arms, feeling the rivets along the edge and the smooth microsuede. Yeah, it felt like her chair. Could it work, with her eyes closed?

She jumped up, with her back to the chair, and removed her clothes so that she was completely naked. Then she found a long silk scarf that hung in her front closet - it was black and covered in tiny pink roses, she wasn't even sure where she'd gotten it - and tied it around her eyes, making sure that she couldn't see anything around the edges.

Feeling the air on her naked body but not being able to see anything caused a tightening in her genitals that she wasn't expecting, and she started to breathe a little faster. Amanda reached out for the chair and felt its soft pile beneath her fingers. Like she did the first time she saw the original, she moved around it, trailing her hands along it as she went. Only this time, she made sure she moved close enough that she could brush her nipples against it as she moved. They became immediately erect, and she imagined that the supple material was caressing her.

Once she'd made it around the chair, the pressure in her clitoris had reached a level that demanded attention. She felt her way onto one of the arms of the chair, straddling it just as she'd imagined the night before. The edge of the arm was pebbled with rivets, so she placed her clit over the line of them and began moving back and forth, the bumps and ridges rubbing against her in the most enticing way. She leaned forward and pressed her chest into the side of the chair, her arms around it like a lover, so that as she moved her nipples also rubbed against it, the soft cloth tormenting her sensitive nubs deliciously. She started off slowly, but quickly increased speed, grinding and gyrating against the arm of the chair with an abandon she'd never felt before.

Despite the number of times Amanda had already cum that day, it didn't take long before she reached the peak of orgasm again, this time releasing a loud, guttural groan as the tension broke within her. She slumped into the seat, blindfold still blocking her vision, and fell into a deep sleep in her replacement chair.

When Amanda woke up with the silk scarf still blocking her vision, she pretended for a second that she was in the soothing embrace of her chair, but as soon as she removed the blindfold, disappointment once again set in. While she could use her imagination when her eyes were closed, nothing could convince her with her eyes open that this chair was an adequate replacement for the real thing.

With the stain of her ejaculate cooling on the arm of the imposter in her living room, Amanda slunk off to bed to dream of her one true love, the chair in the bookstore.

Amanda's life took on a new routine after that. Every day, she would go to the bookstore. She would take her lunch and her laptop, arriving just after opening and staying for as long as she could, luxuriating in her chair as she worked. She even became sort of friendly with the staff member who opened the store, saying "hello" and "goodbye" whenever she arrived and left. She never asked their name, because it didn't occur to her to do so, but the two of them fell into a kind of friendship all the same.

The staff member never questioned her presence there, other people hung out in the bookstore all the time, and they didn't seem to care that she never bought anything. Amanada eventually assumed that they must have thought she was a penniless writer working on a novel and using the free WIFI, because one day the staff member asked her, "how's the work going?" and at first she thought they meant her actual job, but then she figured out about the writing thing. She just mumbled, "um, good... thanks," and carried on her way.

Usually her chair was empty of other people, so she was able to rush over and sink gratefully into it, running her hands over it and whispering a greeting. One day, though, a woman was sitting in the chair when Amanda arrived at the store. She got there a bit later that day, because a neighbour had stopped her in the hall and forced her into a conversation about the upcoming rental increases for five minutes before she was able to get away. She rushed to Woolstone's as soon as she could, only to find another encased in her beloved.

Amanada was instantly furious. How dare she? How dare this woman sit in HER chair? She stood there and glared at the woman, her mouth open, her eyes creased in anger. The woman looked up and then down again quickly, peeking at Amanda again a few seconds later. When it became clear that the woman wasn't going to move from the chair, Amanda shuffled over and stood at a nearby shelf, pretending to look at the books but really stealing furtive glances and the woman and her chair every few seconds. This went on for a while, with the woman in the chair becoming more and more fidgety, looking up at Amanda and then away, looking up at Amanda and then typing furiously on her phone, looking up at Amanda and then huffing to herself. But she didn't address Amanda, and Amanda didn't say anything to her.

Finally, the woman gathered her things and stomped away, muttering to herself as she did so. As soon as she'd vacated the area, Amanda all but dove into her chair, feeling unsettled by the warmth the woman's butt had left on the seat, but so grateful to be reunited with her love. She snuggled in and started happily tapping away on her laptop, but was interrupted a few moments later by the staff member she was amiable with.

"Everything okay up here?" the staff person asked.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay," Amanada responded, a little startled since no one had ever talked to her while she was in her chair before.

"Okay, it's just that a woman came up and said someone had been harassing her up here, did you see anything?"

"Oh, no! Um no, I didn't see anything," Amanda assured them.

The staff member shrugged. "Okay, good. I'll let you get back to it then!"

Amanda smiled hesitatingly at the staff member before they walked away. Thankfully, she never encountered anyone in her seat again, but she always made sure she arrived right after opening from then on.

She would ignore the imposter chair in her apartment whenever she was home, literally doing her best to avoid even looking at it. Eventually, she covered it with a blanket so she didn't have to work so hard not to see it and be reminded what a meager substitute it was for the real thing. She kept it like that at all times except for each evening when she tied the silk scarf around her eyes. Then she would remove the blanket, and feel her way around going to town on the chair, as she pretended it was the right chair. When she was done, on went the blanket again and off came the scarf, so she never had to actually ruin the illusion.

One day as she walked into Woolstone's, the friendly staff member said more than hello.

"Morning! Did you see the sign?" they asked.

"Uh, no," Amanda responded.

"Oh, okay, it's just in the window. Anyway, we're hiring! I thought since you spend so much time here anyway, you might want to make it official! Feel free to give me a CV if you're interested, I'll put in a good word for you!"

"Oh, thanks, that's, uh, great," Amanada stammered, shooting a half smile at the staff person before rushing off to her chair.

She was initially perplexed as to why the staff person would have thought that she would be interested in working there, when she already had a job, but then she remembered the starving writer hypothesis and it all made sense. She shrugged and was about to pull out her laptop to start working, when an idea popped into her head. If she applied for the job, there was a definite likelihood that she could someday be alone with her chair, and therefore could finally consummate their relationship the way she pretended to every night. She set down her bag and ran her hands along the arms and sides of the chair. A shudder went through her, it could happen for real!

Amanda's day job was quite flexible, and she knew she could work her hours around whatever shifts she did at the bookstore. She pulled out her laptop and looked at the job ad on the store's website. They were looking for someone to close a few nights a week - perfect! That would mean she wouldn't even have to finagle her way into a scenario where she would be alone with her chair, it would be part of the job a few nights a week!

With excitement coursing through her, Amanda started working on a CV that would be guaranteed to get her the job. She didn't have any real relevant experience, but according to her new CV she did: a part time job at her university bookstore, some time at a big box bookstore, and some recent volunteer work in a library. She did not include her current career on the CV but instead added writing workshops to her education section and some varied paid writing experience, so as to fulfill the staff member's assumptions about her. When she felt she had crafted the CV as well as could be, she went in search of the staff member.

"Uh, hi," she said when she found them restocking shelves in Young Adult Fiction. "I would like to apply for that job. Should I email my CV to you, or...?"

"Oh hey, that's great!" they replied. "Yeah, email it to me and I will make sure it gets to Doug, our manager." Amanada typed the email address into a note on her phone.

"Thanks, I'll, uh, send that off right away." She turned to head back to her chair, but the staff member kept talking.

"It really is a good place to work," they said, continuing to shelve books as they spoke. "Especially if you love books. I've been here about two years now..."

They prattled on for several minutes, Amanda nodding and smiling when it seemed appropriate, but waiting for the first opportunity to get back to her chair.

"Anyway, I think you'd really like it here," they finally concluded.

"Thanks, uh, it sounds great. I'll send you my CV right now!" Amanda responded before rushing off.

Having left her things on it, her chair was thankfully empty of people when she returned. She dutifully emailed her CV as promised, and then gave her chair a few strokes.

"Soon," she whispered excitedly. "We can make it official very soon!"

That night, the imposter was put through the ringer. While blindfolded as usual, Amanda writhed on both arms and while balanced precariously on the top of the backrest, and then for the finale furiously masturbated while sitting upside down: her back on the seat cushion and head hanging over the edge, and her legs straight up against the back. She used one of her favourite toys, a glass dildo that was ridged in all of the right places. When she drew it in and out of herself, it felt similar to the ridges of the rivets along the chair, so she could pretend that the chair was actually inside of her, as if it had grown a limb for the sole purpose of fucking her. When she came, thinking of course about soon being able to make love to the real chair, she squirted her desire up the back, the once supple microsuede now destined to dry with a light, crusty film.

A couple of days later, Amanda entered Woolstone's and was greeted by the usual friendly staff member and an older man, probably mid-fifties or so, with a mustache on his lip to defy the receding hairline on his head, and a smile on his face.

"Good morning!" the staff member said. "This is Doug, the manager. I gave him your CV and told him all about you."

Amanda was a bit thrown, not expecting the process to happen quite like this. "Oh, hi, uh, hello," she stammered.

"Yes, Amanda, is it?" asked Doug, sticking out his hand for a shake.

"Uh, yes," she answered, wiping off her damp hand on her jeans before accepting the handshake.

"Well, great to meet you. Dylan, here, has told me all about you, I was hoping we could chat sometime, about the job? Do you have time today?"

"Yes, uh, I could chat today," Amanda answered.

"Perfect, perfect, how about at 11?" Doug asked, clapping his hands together.

"That would be, uh, great," she replied, feeling herself blanche a little. Oh crap, she hadn't considered there would be an interview!

"Perfect, come and see Dylan at 11 and they will show you where to find me." With that, Doug smiled and walked away. Dylan, the friendly staff member, smiled at Amanda encouragingly.

"This is great! You might get to start right away!" they said.

"Ye-yeah," Amanda mumbled.

"Oh, don't be nervous," Dylan said, with some concern over Amanda's sudden pale and sweaty appearance. "Doug is really nice and the interview is pretty standard. You'll do great!"

"Th-thank you," Amanda muttered. "I'd better go and, uh, prepare."

"Okay, see you in a bit!" Dylan said cheerfully before turning to help a customer.

Amanda made it to her chair in a daze. An interview! She fell into the chair and put her head in her hands. She had been so excited about the prospect of getting to be with her chair that she didn't think of the steps she would need to take to get there. She was terrible at interviews. They expected you to know how to interact and answer questions and be engaging. She only got her current job because it was an online interview and they were more interested in her computer skills than her communication skills.

But she would have to do this. It was the only way she ever had a hope of getting to be alone with her chair. She caressed the arms of the chair, feeling the soft fabric and stealing herself for what was to come. She would do this. With new resolve, Amanda grabbed her laptop out of her bag, slapped on some noise cancelling headphones, and spent the next few hours until her interview watching How To videos on Youtube for tips and tricks.

By the time 11am rolled around, she felt as ready as she could possibly be. She gathered her things, stroked the chair for luck and popped a quick kiss on the backrest, and headed off to find Dylan.

"There you are!" they said. "How are you feeling? Are you ready?"

"Um, I think so," Amanda answered, hesitatingly.

"Don't worry, you will do great! Let me take you to Doug."

Dylan led her to Doug's office, which was in a staff-only part of the store that she had obviously never been to. Doug's office was a small windowless room, with a desk, a desk chair, and a couple of chairs facing the desk. There were books piled on every surface, and on a filing cabinet behind the desk she could see a couple of monitors that switched through the viewpoints of the various security cameras in the store. Doug was sitting at his desk, typing away on his computer keyboard.

"Just give me one minute," he said.

He gestured for her to sit at one of the chairs in front of the desk, while he finished off whatever he was working on. She had to move a stack of books to sit precariously on top of the stack of books already on the other chair, and sat down. She was so nervous, and the unexpected wait made it so much worse. Her legs were shaking, her hands were sweaty and her heart was pounding. She was just about to make an excuse and a mad dash for the door, when on the screen behind Doug a grainy, black and white image of her chair appeared, obviously taken from a camera that was positioned in that section. As if a message from the Universe, it was just the reminder she needed as to why she was doing this, and she sat up a little straighter, wiped her hands on her jeans and steadied her bouncing legs. She could do this.

Doug wrapped up his work at that moment, and turned to her to start the interview. Later, she couldn't recall what she had said or how she had said it, but she knew she'd been able to answer every question he asked and even made him laugh at one point - her, Amanda, actually made someone laugh! But the biggest confirmation that it had gone well happened at the end of the interview.

"Well, this has all been great, Amanda," he said. "I think you are more than qualified for the job and I am happy to offer it to you. Would you be able to start tomorrow? We're in a bind and would like to get you trained up quickly so you can take over the closing shifts."

Amanda felt a bit shocked that it was happening so fast, but it confirmed to her that it was meant to be. This was supposed to happen so she and her chair could finally be together.

"Yes, I can start tomorrow. Definitely," she answered.

"Great, show up at opening. Dylan will show you the ropes for a week or two, and then when you're ready, you can start closing."

"That sounds great!" Amanda said enthusiastically, giving Doug a huge smile while standing and offering her hand.

If he was a bit taken aback by her change in demeanor, he didn't show it. He shook her hand and wished her a good night.

Amanda practically danced out of the store, making sure to stop by for a quick cuddle with her chair, and to share the news with Dylan. When she got home, she was in such a good mood that she didn't even bother with the blindfold. Instead she removed her clothes and the imposter's covering, and picked up the seat cushion before sitting on the hard form of the chair. She flung a leg over each arm and placed the seat cushion between her legs, moving the edge of it back and forth on her clit and vulva until she came. When she had recovered, she tossed the cushion back in place and danced around her apartment, not bothering to replace the covering. It was like, now that she knew that she would be able to have the real thing, the imposter lost all of its disappointment and became little more than a convenient masturbatory tool; like a chair shaped dildo. She was so happy, everything was coming together.

She showed up at Woolstone's on time the next morning and was greeted by an effusive Dylan. Dylan proceeded to show Amanda all of the ins and outs of the job over the next couple of weeks, explaining how the inventory system, till and general organization of the store worked. She learned how to help customers, how to ring through orders, how and when to tidy up the store, and what chores needed doing throughout the day.

All in all, Amanda thought she enjoyed her new job. Dylan talked almost nonstop, which she found exhausting. But she liked that Dylan didn't push her to do the same; their questions weren't invasive, and they shared a lot more of themself then they asked of her. It seemed like they understood and respected her boundaries, without her ever having to say anything. She'd never met anyone like that before.

Surprisingly, dealing with the customers was relatively easy. They only ever asked straightforward questions: where is the Horror section? Do you have Someone You Can Build a Nest In? What did you think of Nightbitch? Usually, the customers didn't want to chat beyond getting answers to their questions, and Amanda found that she could answer all of their questions. As such, though the job required her to talk to other people way more than she was used to, she was finding it nowhere near as daunting as she thought she would.

During every single shift, she would find as many opportunities as she could to swing by her chair. She wouldn't have time to actually sit in its embrace, but she would take a moment to stroke its arms or back, give it a quick kiss and whisper to it. She was so happy to see that it was rarely used by other people, even when she wasn't there to occupy it for most of the day. She hoped that she had marked it in some way so that other people could sense they were supposed to stay away. It was, after all, HER chair.

Each evening after a shift, she would return home exhausted from dealing with people all day and strip off all of her clothes and curl up in the imposter chair, which remained uncovered. Sometimes she would muster the energy to have sex with the chair, swinging a leg over an armrest and rubbing herself against the rivets, her favourite way to get off. But other days she would just sit there, letting the chair do its job of standing in for the real thing by holding her body and giving her comfort.

Because her job was only part time, on her days off she still went in at opening with her lunch and her laptop to sit in her chair and do her real job all day. She enjoyed the feel of the chair's superior comfort beneath her body and practically quivered with expectation every time she thought of finally getting to consummate her feelings. Sometimes, on those days, if Dylan was alone and the store became extra busy, she would reluctantly leave the confines of her chair to assist. Dylan thought they had the best coworker ever; Amanda just wanted to make a good impression so as to speed up the process that would allow her to close the store.

After about two weeks, she was scheduled to close with Grace, the weekend staff person who was filling in on closing until Amanda was up to speed. Grace, thankfully, didn't talk much either, beyond her rapidfire instructions on the closing process. Amanda tried to take it all in, as the quicker she got the hang of it, the quicker she could do it by herself. She had to accompany Grace for three closing shifts, on the last of which she completed the whole process herself with Grace watching, before she was deemed fit to close by herself and given the keys and alarm code.

Finally, her first solo closing shift arrived. She was a bundle of nervous energy all evening, practically rushing customers with their choices and purchases. She checked on her chair several times throughout the night, running her hands over it and feeling a tightening in her groin at the thought of what was soon to come.

On the dot of 9pm, Amanda shooed the remaining customers out the door and locked it behind them, leaning her back against the cool wood and taking a breath to try to calm herself. She was so excited! She hurried through her closing tasks: counting the till and printing reports, putting everything in the safe. Sweeping the floor and reshelving books. Emptying rubbish bins and straightening displays. When she had finished everything, she turned off the lights at the front of the store and dimmed the lights at the back, effectively setting the mood and establishing to anyone walking by that the store was closed and empty, and then she rushed to her chair.

When she arrived in the little, tucked away nook that held her chair, the dimmed lighting made it appear to her as though it were a throne in a castle, shadowy and powerful. Her heart started hammering in her chest and her clit started throbbing with desire. "Finally," she whispered aloud.

Standing before her beloved, Amanda disrobed, tossing her uniform shirt, pants, bra and underwear in a pile with her shoes and socks. She removed each item of clothing slowly, as if savouring the opportunity to display herself to the one thing she had been lusting after for so long. She caressed herself for her chair, doing what it couldn't, running her hands over her breasts and pinching her erect nipples, sliding her fingers into her warm cleft and pulling them away wet.

She made her way the remaining feet to her chair, kneeling on its cushioned seat so she could press her breasts into its back, rubbing them back and forth across the soft pile. Her breath caught in her throat and she buried her face in its fabric to kiss it. The difference in feeling, both physically and emotionally, between the real thing and the imposter could fill an ocean.

Her clit was pulsing with desire, and she could deny it no longer. She swung her right leg over the armrest and started grinding herself against the rivets, a movement she had done so many times on the imposter, but that had never felt so good or so right. It was exquisite; she tried to take it slow but she couldn't control herself. She started panting and moving herself faster and faster and then stars exploded behind her eyes before she even had a chance to register that the pressure in her body had built to that level. She fell back into the chair with her eyes rolling back in her head, having never felt anything so amazing.

Amanada couldn't get enough; now that she could finally be with her chair the way she wanted, the way she'd been waiting so long for, she never wanted to stop. Taking breaks in between to stroke the soft fabric and recapture her breath, she made love to her chair again and again, each time cumming with such force and soaking the rich fabric with her ejaculate, marking this chair similarly to its replica at home.

She grinded against both armrests and the top of the backrest; she removed the cushion and rubbed it against herself; she sat upside down and fingered herself against the back. She even laid the chair on its side and mounted the side of the backrest, a position she had never tried with the imposter, riding those rivets like any good cowgirl. It was a night unlike anything she had ever experienced, beyond even her wildest dreams, and she now knew what people meant when they described the act of making love as mindblowing.

By the time she was finally worn out, it was the middle of the night and nearly every inch of the chair had been touched by her or her juices. She extracted a packet of Wet Wipes from her jeans pocket and proceeded to lovingly wipe down the chair. It was an act of service for the one she loved, yes, but also of practicality. She knew that she had to leave her lover in a state that was appropriate.

Exhausted and so satiated, Amanda redressed, gave a final stroke to her chair, and then exited the store, setting the alarm as she left. She jogged the whole way home, falling into her bed without even a glance at the imposter.

The next morning, she woke up with a smile on her face, after sleeping in a bit later than usual. She wasn't scheduled that day, but she still planned to go into the store and couldn't wait to see her chair after the wild night they had had. As she was gathering her things, her phone rang. It stopped Amanda in her tracks, her phone NEVER rang, and she fumbled with it a bit while trying to answer it.

"Uh, hello?" she answered.

"Amanda?" the voice said.

"Y-yes, that's me."

"This is Doug from Woolstone's. I know you're not working today, but I was hoping you could come in as soon as possible, we need to have a chat. Are you free this morning?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Is, uh, everything ok?" she asked.

"Just come in as soon as you can," he said, before hanging up.

Amanda's heart leapt into her throat. Did she forget something while closing last night? She knew she'd been in a rush to get to her chair, but she was sure she'd followed Grace's instructions to the letter, and locked the door and set the alarm, so she wasn't sure what it could be. Either way, she hurried to finish getting ready and get there, in order to find out.

When she arrived at the store, Dylan was in the front as usual, but didn't offer her a friendly greeting. In fact, they barely acknowledged her at all and just gruffly instructed her to head to Doug's office. Amanda noted it was out of character for her colleague, but had no idea what it meant.

Doug was sitting at his desk, and he looked up at her when she entered. He didn't smile or say hello either, just gestured to a chair on the other side of his desk and looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. The tension was palpable, but Amanda didn't know what to say or do, so she just sat and looked back at Doug.

"The alarm company called us this morning," he said when he finally spoke. "Apparently the alarm wasn't set until 3am this morning, which is very weird. Very weird, indeed. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Amanda started trembling a bit. She hadn't realised that they monitored the time the alarm was set. "Um, no," she responded in a quiet voice.

"Right. Well, when I got in I had a look at the security cameras to see if I could see a reason for the alarm getting set so late."

Amanda's heart sank. She had completely forgotten about the security cameras.

"Just after 9, I could see you doing all of the expected closing tasks, without issue," he continued. "But then at about 9:30, when you finished, instead of leaving the store you turned off the lights and went into one of the reading nooks. And then I saw this."

He clicked a button on his computer and turned to one of the security camera monitors behind him, which flashed to an image of her standing before her chair. When she started to remove her clothes, he stopped the video.

"You can imagine my confusion, dismay and disgust when I discovered what you had done in the store until 3am. We trusted you and you abused that trust to enact your own weird sexual kink."

"No, I-" Amanda tried to interject, feeling like she'd been kicked in the gut.

"I think it goes without saying that you are fired. Please hand over your keys and uniform as soon as possible. You are also no longer welcome in this store. That will be all."

With that, Doug turned away from her and back to his computer, as if he could not handle another second of talking to her.

Amanda stood up, shaking on her feet, and turned to the door. But then she was struck by the devastating fact that if she was banned from the store, she would never see her chair again, and it galvanised her to turn back to Doug.

"M-my chair," she said.

Doug looked up at her, surprised. "Your chair? Do you mean, the store's chair? What about it?"

"I'd like to buy it," she said in a rush.

Doug looked at her, once again an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well, you've got nerve. But after what you did to it last night, we can hardly keep it for customer use. Fine, you can have it for $100. But I want it gone today and I don't want to see it or you ever again."

Amanda didn't need to be told twice. She pulled a pile of bills out of her wallet and dumped them on Doug's desk, before hurrying out of his office and grabbing a dolly from the back room as she went. She rushed through the store to her chair and loaded it onto the dolly as carefully as possible, and then pushed it through the store and out to the street. Once outside, she ordered an Uber XL, the embarrassment of the last hour already melting away with the prospect that she would soon have her chair in her home! Just like she'd wished for! She would not miss the bookstore if the reason for visiting it was now in her house!

When the Uber arrived, she helped the driver load the chair and then took the dolly back into the store and handed it to a confused and annoyed-looking Dylan.

"Thanks for everything," she said to them.

Dylan looked at her a moment before rolling their eyes and mumbling, "whatever."

Shrugging off any discomfort from her short time as a bookstore employee, Amanda left the store for good and jumped into the passenger side of the Uber, so happy to be taking her love home, once and for all.

Once at her address, the driver helped her get her beloved chair into her bedroom. As he was leaving, he nodded at the imposter in the living room.

"Oh funny, that looks just like the new one. Now you have a matching set!"

Amanda glared at him, gave him a tenner for the trouble, and escorted him out the door. Then she returned to her bedroom, removed her clothes and curled up in her chair, so grateful to finally have the real thing in her home, forever, that she knew she would go through it all again.

"Well, lover," she said, stroking the soft fabric of her chair. "What should we do first?"