I Like Humping Chairs

Writing in this manner is becoming a little addictive. A chance for creativity. This is very short and really just a vignette. It's also pretty... personal. But that's okay because you don't know me, nor me you. Please, please, please leave comments, good and bad.

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I Like Humping Chairs

The first time I came was from humping a chair. Since then I've never stopped. I was still living at home then, a few months past eighteen, and the family was out. I was bored and horny. I'd spent a while lying on my bed fingering myself. I did that fairly often by then. It felt good, but there always seemed to be a point where it stopped building. In my mind there was something kind of mechanical about it, whether that was the reality or not. The more I tried, the more aware I became of my own hand and the feeling would level out. I didn't think there was anything unusual about that. I thought masturbation was just touching myself because it felt good until I'd had enough.

That was what happened that day. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to get something to eat. I poured some cereal and sat at the table, still horny but not thinking much about what I'd been doing. I was slouched down in the chair when I slid forwards and felt the wooden seat press against my crotch. I shifted back and felt the hard surface rub underneath me. I slid forwards again, letting more of my weight settle onto it. The pressure was broad and firm and sent a warm rush through me. I spread my legs, moved back over the same spot, then forwards again.

For a while I was still eating between movements. I'd shift forwards, rub myself against the flat seat, then settle back again. After a bit I was moving more than I was eating. I shifted sideways until I came up against the corner at the edge of the seat. Instead of the broad pressure underneath me, the narrower edge pressed firmly between my legs. I rocked over it, then back again.

That was much better.

I kept rubbing myself across it. My panties started to cling as I got wetter and I could feel the rubbing change through the damp cotton. I looked down and saw the dark patch between my legs. After a while the wet fabric was getting in the way, so I took my panties off and dropped them beside the chair. Then I got straight back onto the same corner, this time properly getting onto it, legs almost astride.

Bare, it felt harder and much more right there. I settled my weight onto it and rocked forwards. My lips spread either side of the wood. When I rocked back they shifted with me, sliding along the surface, catching slightly and then slipping free. I couldn't see much of what was happening from above, but I've watched enough clips of women humping things to know what it looks like. I can picture the outer lips parting around the ridge, the inner ones shifting against the wood as the hips move back and forth. After a while everything gets a little red and rubbed, almost raw in a nice way.

As I got wetter, the wood became slick underneath me. The slight catch against the surface became an easier slide. I could feel my pubic hair rubbing against my skin too. It all added to the sensation. It was lovely. When I looked down, I could see the shine I was leaving on the wood, extending a little further as I rocked.

I remember the chair creaking. I remember the little noises I was making. And I remember my smell. It was yuck, in a good way. Warm and musky, getting stronger as I kept going. I kept moving and, instead of the feeling levelling out as it always had with my fingers, it kept building. I pressed myself harder against the ridge, increasing the pressure on my clit as I rocked over it.

Then I came.

I hadn't known that was what I was heading towards. It was a proper high. My legs stretched out and my toes curled with it. When it passed, I wanted to feel it again.

I think we've all been there. Or I at least hope you have.

I stayed on the chair for a while afterwards. When I got off, there was a shiny wet smear on the wood and my panties were lying on the floor beside it. I touched the wetness on the chair and smelled my fingers. Same smell, only stronger up close. It was messy and a bit gross and I liked all of it.

That was the beginning of it. Chairs, obviously. The arm of a sofa. Pillows. The corner of a mattress. Tables even. Anything that happened to be firm enough and in the right place. I've looked at plenty of other things and wondered. Chair legs have occurred to me more than once. Gear sticks too. I've never actually fucked either, but I've certainly thought about it.

Fingers still don't really do it for me. They feel good. I use them. But eventually I want something to rub against.

I nearly told a partner once. I've never really been able to bring up masturbation as a topic of conversation, even with sexual partners. A shyness creeps in. Somehow, this time, a passing mention of touching ourselves left room for me to explain how I liked to do it. But I didn't. She already knew I liked climbing onto her thigh and rubbing myself against it, so I left it at that. Thigh humping is apparently the part of the story I'm prepared to share. And if someone's going down on me, I like to face-sit when I get the chance and have to be careful how roughly I hump against their mouth and chin. I don't want to break anyone's nose.

I still like the gross part of it too. When I'm really turned on, I get thick and creamy. You can see it afterwards. Something wet. A darker patch on fabric or a shine on wood. My smell on it too. It's almost animal, leaving a bit of myself on whatever I've just humped.

Hotels are particularly good for that. Different furniture, nobody around and something that isn't mine. If I find something that works, sometimes I hump it. I leave my little mark.

Then it dries.

I check out.