The Practice Dummy by Couchman (Patreon)

Brad had always been a rather kind person. So it was not  un-characteristic of him to help the elderly woman he saw desperately  trying to get across a busy street. The old woman was dressed in  multicolor fabrics and beads; she reminded him of Gypsies he’s seen.  After he had aggressively waved off oncoming traffic and safely got her  to the other side, a smile broke her wrinkled face.

“Thank you,” she said. “You are very kind man,” she told him with broken English.

Brad smiled back. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We need to help each other out.”

The old woman stared at him with a mysterious, kind of knowing , look. “And what can I do for you?” she asked.

“Oh… nothing, really,” said Brad. He looked over her shoulder at a city park where two girls were sitting on a bench.

The old woman continued her unwavering stare into his eyes. “I know what you desire,” she said.

Brad chuckled. At that moment, he was fantasizing himself as part the  bench the girls were sitting on. But he certainly wasn’t going to tell  her that.

“Is that what you truly desire?” asked the women.

“Excuse me?” said Brad.

“What you are thinking,” said the woman.

“Oh, I’d be embarrassed if you knew what I was thinking,” said Brad, still chuckling.

“Is it what you truly desire?” asked the woman, again.

“Um… Yes… Sure,” said Brad, humoring the old woman. He didn’t believe in  magic. And it would require magic to get him what he truly desired.

The old woman raised a fragile hand and held it in front of his face.  She uttered something in words he didn’t understand-- some kind of  incantation. Brad felt a vibration flowing though his body.

“Is done,” said the woman.

“Excuse me?” said Brad. “Is what done?”

“What you desire,” said the woman, matter-of-factly, as if whatever she’d done was commonplace for her.

Brad looked again at the girls sitting on the bench. He glanced down at  his body. She had not turned him into that bench with the two college  coeds, one wearing tight blue jeans and the other a mini-skirt, sitting  on his face and chest. He was still himself, Brad, with an active  imagination.

“Okay… Well… Thank you,” he told her, politely. “Magic indeed,” he  thought as the old woman hobbled away. He decided to get a closer look  at the two girls seated on the bench. He casually strolled by them and  glanced at the bench. If the old woman had somehow magically transformed  him into the bench, the blonde girl in mini-skirt would have been  sitting right on his face and the pretty brunette seated beside her  would have had her tightened blue jeans butt planted on his chest or  stomach.

“That was nice of you,” said the blonde girl

His mind shifted back to reality.

“Excuse me?”

“Helping that old woman,” said the blonde girl, smiling.

“Oh, that was nothing,” said Brad, shyly. He tried to think of something  else to say, but the girls turned to each other and continued to  converse, a signal that they really didn’t have anything more to say to  him. Brad shrugged and walked away thinking of the irony of the  incident. The blonde girl had expressed a quick appreciation of his  simple act of kindness but then just as quickly closed the door on any  further interaction with them. The girls were both beautiful with sexy  bodies, but, thought Brad, kind of snooty and probably sorority types  who exclude others to make themselves look more important. The irony of  the situation was that if the old woman had truly transformed him into  the bench they were sitting on, they would have shut him out of their  lives as a person, but accepted him as merely something to sit on,  because that’s what he was there for. The difference between him and the  bench was that the girls hadn’t ignored him --as a person--enough. He  chuckled at the irony.

That evening, he had a terrible nightmare. He dreamt he’d had a stroke  and was completely paralyzed. But unlike any stoke he was aware of, he  was standing up. He was dressed in swim wear and had a great tan, but he  couldn’t move. He was totally immobile, except for his eyes. He looked  around and discovered other motionless people like himself. They looked  as if they had been posed, their arms and legs positioned as to look  natural. He also noticed he was surrounded by racks of clothing.

“What a weird dream,” he thought. “I need to wake up.”

He tried to move his arms and legs so that he could find himself back in  his bed, the bed he’d laid down on the night before. But he couldn’t’  move. He couldn’t wake up. Terrified, he realized that he was indeed  awake. A sexy dark haired woman strode into his line of sight. She  looked to be in her thirties, very pretty, she wore a form-fitting green  dress that hugged her hips and pressed tightly over the contour of her  buttocks. She walked up to him and looked him straight in the eye, but  it was like she didn’t really see him. Gentle hands straightened the  collar of his colorful shirt. Then she proceeded to busily fold some  jeans on a rack.

“What the hell!” thought Brad. “I’m a store mannequin! The old woman  must have done this to him. She must have magically transformed him into  a mannequin. He wondered why. Why would she have turned him into a  store mannequin? If she had actually read his mind yesterday and asked  him what he wanted, she would have turned him into the bench those girls  were sitting on… but a store mannequin?

He gazed about and realized he was in a small clothing shop. It was  early morning and there didn’t appear to be any customers in the shop  yet. The bells on the front entrance rang and a beautiful blonde woman  entered the store. Apparently, the woman and the shopkeeper knew each  other.

“Melissa,” said the shopkeeper. “Good morning. It’s kind of early for you, isn’t it.”

“Good morning, Marsha,” said the blonde woman. “I wanted to get here early before anyone else comes in.”

“You aren’t going to rob me, are you,” said Marsha, chuckling.

“No, no,” said the blonde Melissa. “If anyone is a robber, it’s you, with these prices.” The women laughed.

“Were you looking for something specific?” asked Marsha.

“Actually… yes… I am looking for something special,” replied Melissa.  “I’m not looking for clothing this morning…well maybe… but what I’d  really like to buy is one of your male mannequins.”

“You want to buy a mannequin?” asked Melissa, quizzically. “What on Earth for?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Melissa.

“Hmm,” said Marsha, the store owner. “So you want one that is real  special.” She led Melissa up to where Brad was standing. Marsha said,  “Late last night, when I was about to close, an old woman brought this  one into the store. She had it dressed in pajamas. The strange old woman  said she needed the money and wanted to sell her mannequin to me. Can  you imagine that… an old woman dragging a mannequin dressed in pajamas!  She said it was a very special mannequin. Well… anyway… I felt sorry for  her . I bought the mannequin. Anyway… when I was dressing it I was  shocked to discover what she meant by very special.”

“What do you mean?” asked Melissa.

Melissa grinned and placed a gentle hand over his cock and balls. “He’s anatomically correct.”

Are you serious!” exclaimed Melissa. “May I..? She reached for his  crotch and placed her hand over his cock. Much to Brad’s surprise. His  cock responded to her touch and began to push the swim trunks outwards.  Melissa recoiled in shock and gasped.

“Oh!” Then after recovering she said, “I get it. This is a joke. Shame  on you, Marsha. Okay,” she said, tugging at his arm. “You can stop  acting now. I know you’re a real man.”

“But he’s not,” said Marsha. “He’s not a real man… He’s a mannequin.  He’s not alive.” Melissa poked at his artificial skin. “Oh my goodness!”  she said. “He… is… a mannequin. But there seems to be one part of him  that’s alive.” She grabbed his manhood again and squeezed. Brad could  feel her tight grip on his package. He wanted to yell, but his frozen  mouth wouldn’t move.

“He’s perfect for what I need,” said Melissa.

“And what might that be?” asked Marsha.

“Melissa grinned. “Sit on him.”

“You want to buy the mannequin so you can sit on him?” said Marsha.

“Yes,” replied Melissa. “You know about my video production studio, right.”

“Oh, yes. I know,” said Marsha. “You make video clips of women sitting  on men’s faces. I’ve seen them. I’ve even considered being in one of  your videos and sitting on one myself.”

“You can bring your butt over,” said Melissa, and sit on a face anytime you want, Marsha.”

“But what does all this have to do with my mannequin?”

“Practice,” said Melissa. “I’ve been trying to recruit some girls from  the college to act in my videos, but they all seem to be so shy about  sitting on a man’s face. I thought If I had a male mannequin, they could  see what it feels like to sit on a man’s face.” She poked at his body  some more. “Do you think I’d break him?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I’d break him if I sat on his face?…with all my weight on him?”

“I don’t know,” said Marsha. “I don’t think so… Let’s find out.” She had  a firm grip on his head and pulled at it. “The head comes off,” she  told Melissa. Brad felt his head separate from his torso. He stared up  at her from his pulled off head as she carried it to a chair and set it  down face up. The two women stood next to the chair, towering above him,  Marsha, in her green dress, and Melissa, wearing a white mini-skirt.  They had no idea he was alive and could see right up Marsha’s dress and  Melissa’s mini-skirt. He felt a warmth in his cock, even thought it  stood separated from his head and a good twenty feet away.

“I’m going to sit on his face,” said Melissa.

“You break him, you buy him,” said Marsha, laughing.

“He needs a name,” said Melissa. “How about… Brad.”

“Why Brad?” asked Marsha.

“I don’t know,” said Melissa. “It just popped into my head.” She turned  and, smoothing the skirt material into her butt, began to sit down.  “Okay… Brad…” She said to him. “I’m going to sit on your face.” Melissa  sat down gently on his face, at first, and then allowed her whole weight  to come down on his face. She sat a few moments and then got up. “Did I  break him?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” said Marsha.

“Good,” said Melissa, her rounded butt, again, descending to his face.  Even though he was, apparently, a mannequin, he could feel Melissa’s  weight crush his head into the chair. His face was buried beneath the  twin globes of her butt, separated only by thin skirt material.

“This is what the men like,” she told Marsha. “They like it when the  girls sit on a man’s face with their skirt over his head… like this…”  She arose from his face, flipped the back of her skirt over his head,  and sat down again--- this time displaying satin white panties covering  her butt as it connected with his up turned face.

“This will be perfect,” she told Marsha. “Some girls won’t sit on a real  man’s face, but they would probably sit on a mannequin, like Brad  here.”

Surrounded by the heavy darkness beneath Melissa’s butt, Brad heard Marsha say, “ Let me try… Let me sit on him.”

Melissa arose from his face and placed a hand on his head. “I guess I  didn’t break you,” she told him, chuckling. “Now you just be still,” she  said, patting his cheek. “Marsha wants to sit on your head… don’t  worry… she won’t break you.”

“I might,” said Marsha, looking down at him with curious eyes and a grin.

“Oh, my!” thought Brad. “I just got my face sat on by a woman, and now  another one is going to sit on me.” He felt his crotch began to warm  from across the room, where the rest of his body lay.

“Poor Brad,” said Marsha. “I weight one thirty and you have to let me  sit my butt and all my weight on your face.” She turned and directed her  hips and butt into an arc that stopped a little above his face. Then  Marsha let gravity connect her rounded butt with his face. Brad could  feel all of her weight crushing his face and the back of his head into  the chair. “How do you like me sitting on your face, Brad?” she asked,  knowing that he couldn’t respond. He was an object, a mannequin. Marsha  wasn’t a bit worried about squashing him.

“Oh, Melissa,” said Marsha. “If I sat on a real man’s face like this, I’d hurt him.”

“Some men like it,” said Melissa. “They like getting sat on by women.”

“Really?” said Marsha, incredulously. “And… they don’t care if you hurt um?”

“I guess not,” said Melissa. “One of my models sat on one of my slaves  face and broke his nose. He just drove himself to the hospital and got  it fixed… He came back for more later. You know how dumb men are.” The  two women laughed.

“Yeah, they are,” said Marsha. She crossed her nylon thighs and  continued to sit on Brad’s face-- completely oblivious to the pain she  was causing him. “I don’t know If I could do it… I mean… sit on a man’s  face like this, with all my weight on him. “I like the feeling, though.  The feeling of his face under my butt. But he’s only a mannequin. If I  break him… well… there’s always superglue.”

“Well… When you feel like sitting on a man’s face-- I mean a live one-- let me know, Marsha.”

“I will,” said Marsha, lifting her butt from Brad’s face. He was both  relieved and disappointed when Marsha got up off his face.

“Well,” said Melissa. “I think that the rest of your body must be  missing you.” She took a hold of his head and Brad felt his head being  carried back to his torso. Melissa connected his head to his torso and  picked him up. It seemed easy for Melissa to pick him up, because he  didn’t have his former weight. He was hollow inside.

“Bye, Brad,” said Marsha, as Melissa carried him to the door. “I hope you get lots of butts on top of you.”

“This is incredible!” thought Brad, as Melissa laid him down on the back  seat of her car. “I’m being taken home with Melissa so some college  girls can sit on me!”

Melissa drove to her house and carried him downstairs to the basement,  where she had built a studio. There was what looked to Brad like a  hi-def camera mounted on a tri-pod and some hi-density lights. Against  one wall was an editing machine. Her basement studio also had a rack of  various kinds of clothing: skirts, jeans, shorts, and black spandex  slacks. There were also a couple of chairs and a couch. Melissa laid him  down on the couch. He watched her lovely legs and skirt sway as her  high heels clumped back up the stairs.

All he could do was lay there like the dummy he was. He lay there on the  couch for what seemed like hours in anticipation of Melissa coming back  and sitting on him. It was spooky. She had turned the basement lights  off, and he could only stare at the ceiling, imagining what was to  happen next.

Finally, the basement lights came back on and he heard Melissa talking to someone.

“It’s really not that hard,” Jenna,” she said. Brad shifted his eyes to  the top of the basement stairs. He saw Melissa directing a girl down the  basement stairs. The girl was his age, shoulder length blonde hair, a  white blouse pushed out by perky breasts, and a plaid mini-skirt which  revealed half of her lovely tanned thighs. Melissa showed him the couch  where Brad lay.

“So,” said the girl. “Do you want me sit on your mannequin?”

“Yes,” said Melissa. “Just sit down on him.”

The girl gazed down at him, amused. “Won’t I break him?”

“Oh, no,” said Melissa. “He’s actually quite comfortable to sit on… and his name is Brad.”

The girl chucked. “Okay… well… Brad… I hope you don’t mind if I sit on  you.” She turned and sat down on his chest. He felt her buttocks spread  out across his chest and her weight upon him. “Like this?” she said, and  crossed her legs. The thigh that lay over the other one was nearly  touching his chin. He felt his cock began to extend, but he managed to  control it.

“Yes,” said Melissa. “Just like that”

“That’s easy,” said the girl.

“Now,” said Melissa, “sit on his face.”

“Want me to sit on his face?” said the girl, chucking. “Are you sure I won’t break him?”

“Oh, no,” Melissa reassured her. “I sat on his face myself, and I’m a little heavier than you.”

“Well,” said the girl, hesitantly. “I guess… since you’re only a  mannequin, Brad, I’ll sit on your face.” She uncrossed her legs and  lifted her butt off his chest. Her plaid skirt hung seductively over his  face a moment, and he gazed at her pink panty-covered butt, then she  lowered it to his face, engulfing it as she allowed her weight to settle  down. The couch beneath him groaned a little from the added weight.  Brad loved the ease at which the girl had sat on his face, because, to  her, he wasn’t a person. She crossed those smooth, tanned thighs as she  sat heavily upon him. He was able to peer beneath the raised thigh to  where it met with her bent knee, the inner lining of her plaid skirt  draped over them.

“I like sitting on your face, Brad,” said the girl. “I hope you know  that if you were a real person I wouldn’t be sitting on you like this.”

“Why not?” asked Melissa.

“I’d hurt him for one thing,” said the girl. “And I’d be embarrassed…  I’m not in the habit of letting a man look up my skirt---even though I’m  wearing panties.” Brad loved it that she was so nonchalantly sitting on  his face while at the same time expressing a reluctance to sit on a  live man’s face. To her, he was an object without feelings. She had no  idea how much discomfort she was causing him with her weight, nor did it  enter her mind that her skirt was over his head, mashing his face into  her panty-covered butt.

“Besides,” continued the girl. “I sat on your mannequin because he’s not  alive. I don’t’ think a live man would want my butt on his face.” She  raised up off his face, smoothed her skirt into her butt, and looked  down at Brad. “You don’t care if I sit on you, do you.” Of course, she  didn’t expect an answer from him, so she answered for him. “ I didn’t  think so.” She let go of the gathered skirt material and let it fly over  his head as she sat back down on him. She wiggled her butt a little,  getting comfortable on his face, and crossed her legs again.


“I’m disappointed,” said Melissa. “I was hoping you would act in one of my videos. I want to do a human couch video.”

“What would I do?” asked the girl. “Would I just come in and sit on his face? Like he’s a chair or something?”

“That’s about it,” said Melissa. “The scenario is he’s your slave and you use him as a couch or chair cushion and sit on him.”

“And you don’t think I’d hurt him?” asked the girl. She demonstrated by bouncing a couple times on Brad’s face.”

Melissa started to answer when the sound of a loud buzzer interrupted her.

“Someone’s upstairs, at the front door,” said Melissa. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

The girl continued to unknowingly torture his face sitting on it. Brad  heard Melissa clump up the basement stairs. After a minute or so, the  girl got up from his face. She found a stack of magazines, selected one,  and then came back to the couch where Brad lay. She stood next to the  couch, leafing through the magazine. Suddenly, she glanced down at him,  an unconcerned girl-to-seat glance that only an inanimate object could  see. Her legs were together, forming a V of tanned thighs leading to her  rounded butt, and sat down full on his face. He heard her leafing  through the magazine as she sat on him.

After a while, he heard the familiar heels on stairs clumping as Melissa came back down to the basement.

“Oh, now that’s just great.” Melissa said, frustrated. “The man who was  going to act as a human seat in my next video just cancelled out. Now I  have to find a man to sit on as well as a girl to sit on him.”

“I’m sorry,” said the girl in a sweet voice. “I… could… use the money  for tuition… I guess I could sit on someone if you can find another one  of your… um… slaves.”

Brad felt additional weight on his chest and stomach. Melissa had sat on him along side the girl.

“Do you know of anyone?” asked Melissa.

“Hmmm,” said the girl. “I don’t know of anyone who would let me sit on  his face like this.” She crossed her legs, again. Brad laughed inside  his motionless head. “Me! Me!” he said to himself. “You can sit on me,  as you already are-- if you only knew.”

“How would it be possible?” asked the girl. “How would it be possible to  use a man like a piece of furniture and… just… sit on him? I mean… He  would suffocate if I sat on his face. I’ve been sitting on this  mannequin’s face for quite a while. But I don’t have to worry about,”  she hesitated, “Killing him!.. The mannequin doesn’t need to breathe.”

It was true, thought Brad. As a mannequin he did not need air. He could  enjoy getting sat on for as long as a girl wanted--but the weight on him  was uncomfortable.

“Oh… No,” Melissa reassured her. “You don’t sit on a slave for very long--as least not on his face.”

“Hmmm,” said the girl, considering Melissa’s offer. “I suppose I could try to find someone to sit on.”

“That would be great,” said Melissa. Melissa and the girl arose from his  face and chest. Brad could only lay there as they went back upstairs.  He wondered what was going to happen next. It didn’t take long for him  to find out. He felt his body whirling and he found himself back in his  bed. He raised his arm and leg. He was his old self. He wasn’t a  mannequin, anymore.

“What the Hell!” he said aloud. “Was that a dream? It hadn’t felt like  one of those crazy dreams. It felt like the mysterious experience had  really happened. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he was dressed in the  swim wear from Marsha’s clothing shop. It also felt as if someone had  placed a heavy weight on his face and chest.

Brad climbed out of bed and tried to discern if what he had experienced  was a dream or some kind of strange transformation, created by the  mysterious old woman he’d helped across the street. His chest felt kind  of crushed--as if it had actually been sat on. And his face… His nose  hurt as if someone had sat on his face.
He got dressed and thought he’s better attend classes that day. An  active fantasy life was one thing, but this was the real world, a world  that is un-forgiving to someone without a job, a good job that could be  gained by education. He arrived at the college early and decided he  needed some more coffee to get his mind started. He sat alone in the  student center, sipping coffee and day dreaming about how his life would  change if he had been actually transformed into a mannequin, an object  without perceived feelings-- as in the dream, if it was a dream-- and  sat on by women and girls.
He was startled when a girl who was standing behind him suddenly spoke.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Brad turned around, and his eyes widened in shock. It was her! It was  the girl in the dream--if it was a dream--who had sat on his face when  he was a mannequin. She was stunningly beautiful, about five foot six  with shoulder length blonde hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a tight  T-shirt and a denim mini-skirt.

“May I?” She motioned to sit down at his table.

“Oh… um… sure,” said Brad.

The girl sat down, and her skirt rode up to expose tanned thighs.

“We’ve never met before, have we?” said the girl.

“I don’t think so,” said Brad.

“Good,” said the girl. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone I know… I’m Jenna.”

“Hi, Jenna,” said Brad. “I’m Brad.”

“Brad?” said the girl. “ That’s interesting. I met someone named Brad  yesterday. Well… He wasn’t a real person. He was a mannequin named  Brad.”

The words mannequin and his name, Brad, perked his curiosity.

“Yes,” said Jenna. “And you’ll never guess what I did with him.”

“What was that?” asked Brad.

Jenna hesitated, as if deciding to say something. “Well,” she continued.  “That mannequin named Brad… I sat on him… I sat on his face.” Her face  could stay sober for only a moment, and then she giggled.

“Really?” said Brad, glancing down at the chair seat she had planted her  butt on and at her casually crossed tanned legs. He could feel it. He  could feel her sitting on his face. It wasn’t a dream. It was real! He  had been transformed into a mannequin and sat on by this girl, and she  had no idea she was talking to him as a person now.

Playing dumb, Brad said,” Why would you sit on a mannequin?”

“Practice,” said the girl. “I’ll explain… if I can.” She settled back in  her chair and it squeaked. Brad could nearly feel her weight on his  head, as it had been yesterday.

“College is expensive, isn’t it,” she said. “It’s hard to afford tuition, books, and all that stuff.”

“I agree,” said Brad.

“Would you like to make some extra money?” she asked.

This was incredible. Brad knew what she was going to say. She had told  Melissa she would try to find someone who would let her sit on him.

“You look like a tough guy,” said Jenna. “Are you?.. Are you tough?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Brad, still acting dumb.

“What’s your pain tolerance?” asked the girl. “Would you like to earn  some extra money?.. Even if I hurt you?… Even if I-- you know--  humiliated you?”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Brad.

“What if someone paid you to let me use you as a seat?” asked Jenna.

“A seat?”

“Yep,” she continued. “A seat… and I’d sit on you.”

Brad was thankful his lap was under the table and out of her sight. He  was starting to sprout a woody, but he didn’t want to appear too  anxious.

“Why?” asked Brad. “Why would someone pay me… to let you sit on me?”

“I’ll get to that,” said Jenna. “But there’s a catch,” she paused a few  moments. “I’d sit on your face.” She pursed her lips, as if expecting a  negative answer from him.

Brad grinned. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed with disbelief. “You wouldn’t care if I hurt you?  When I sat down on you, I’d put all my weight-- I weigh one twenty  five-- on your head… I wouldn’t sit on you long enough to suffocate you,  but I might squish you.”

“I’d do it,” said Brad. “I’d do it for money. But why me? Out of  thousands of college guys around here, why are you asking… me?”

“I don’t know,” said Jenna. “I was looking around the student center,  trying to get up the nerve to ask someone when I saw you. It was a  strange feeling--- like fate or something.”

“Okay,” said Brad. “But who is this woman who’s going to pay me to be your seat? And why?”

“Her name is Melissa. She produces video clips… fetish clips of women  dominating men by using them as a human seat and sitting on them.”

“Have you done this before?” Asked Brad.

“Oh, no,” said Jenna. “This would be my first time I’ve sat on a man’s  face… not a live man… I sat on that mannequin’s face, though. And it was  kind of fun. But… of course… I didn’t have to worry about hurting him.”  

“Hmmm,” said Brad, trying not to appear too anxious. “Would you be sitting on my face in the nude?”

Her face flushed. “I wouldn’t do… that. I’d probably be wearing a skirt  or something. But Melissa wants me to pretend like you’re my human seat,  so I’d probably let my skirt go over your face when I sat on you… like  this…” She demonstrated by flipping the rear hem of her skirt over the  chair seat and sitting back down on it.

“I’ll do it,” said Brad.

“You will?” said the girl, incredulously. “You won’t care if I plop my… butt… right on your face?”

“Nope,” said Brad. “If it’s for the movie.” He thought of the old woman.  She had not only transformed him into a mannequin, she had also  arranged this meeting with the girl.

“Good,” said Jenna. “I’ll get a hold of Melissa and tell her I found a  human seat for some videos.” Brad gave her his phone number. “Call me  when you’re ready,” he told her.

Several days later he got a call from Melissa. He was to arrive at her  house at eight o’clock that evening. He was filled with excitement.  Jenna had already sat on him as a mannequin, and now she was about to  sit on his face as a live person. He wondered how it would be different.  

Melissa greeted him at the front door. She was wearing a tan  mini-skirt--no nylons covering her tanned thighs-- and high heel  sandals. He, again, marveled at her shapely legs and ample butt.

“Have you had any acting experience?” she asked.

“None at all,” said Brad.

“Well,” said Melissa. “You won’t have to do much acting. Basically, all  you’ll do is lay down on a couch or put your head on a chair seat so  Jenna can sit on you. Her facial expressions and voice tone were  business like. Then she smiled. “I might even sit on you myself.” Then  Melissa produced a brief case and pulled out some papers. “This is a  legal disclaimer,” she told him. “It states that I will not be held  responsible for injuries that may be sustained in the making of my  video. I need you to sign it.” Then she showed him another form. “And  this form states that you are at least eighteen years old.”

Brad signed the papers and Melissa escorted him to her basement studio.  Jenna was already down there. She looked stunning. She was dressed in a  plaid mini-skirt which started four or five inches above her knees. She  also was wearing high heel sandals with white ankle socks. Brad quickly  noted that there were two couches in the studio. On one of the couches  was a mannequin! It lay there motionless, it’s eyes staring into space.

“We’ll do some practice on the mannequin, first,” said Melissa. “Jenna has already studied the script. She knows what to do.”

Brad stood there, waiting for instructions, when, suddenly, he heard the old woman’s voice in his mind say, “Transform.”

“Transform?” he thought to himself.

As soon as he thought the word transform, he felt himself whirling. His  body was stiff and immobile. He was lying on the couch. He was the  mannequin! He looked over at himself, standing there and looking at  himself as a mannequin. “Incredible!” he thought. He was actually in two  places at the same time. He was himself, a human being, and he was also  the mannequin!

Jenna walked over to him. She was brushing her hair. She looked down at  him, as a mannequin, and said, “I’m going to use you for my seat… I’m  going to sit on you… You’re my slave… I can do anything I want to you,  and I’m going to sit on your face.” Her knees bent and her skirt went up  and over his face as her white panty clad butt descended to it. She sat  down on his mannequin face, her weight on top of him forcing the couch  down lower. Then she crossed her legs. “You make a comfy seat,” she told  him, “…just something for me to sit on.”

Brad has an impulse to say to himself transform. As soon as he thought  the word, he found himself standing upright, looking at Jenna sitting on  the mannequin’s face. Then he thought the word transform, again. He was  now the mannequin Jenna was still sitting on.

“Wow! Awesome!” thought Brad. His face was mashed under her butt, and he  peered under the thigh that was crossed over the other, the underlining  of her plaid skirt draped over them.

“That’s great,” said Melissa. “Just like that. He is your slave and you  can sit on him.” Then she said, “Brad… It’s your turn now.” Jenna got up  off his mannequin face. “Transform,” he said to himself. He was now  himself, a live person. Melissa told him to assume the same position as  the mannequin on the couch. He laid down on the other couch.

“Sit on his face, Jenna, just like you sat on the mannequin.

“Oh,” said Jenna, a worried expression on her face. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him if I sat on him like I sat on that mannequin.”

“It’s okay,” Brad assured her.

“Are you sure?” said Melissa.

“Yes,” said Brad, a bravado in his voice. “Go ahead and sit on me. I can take it.”

“Okay,” said Jenna. “Don’t blame me if I crush you.” She stood a few  moments, rehearsing the dialogue she was supposed to say. The she  approached the couch. She looked down at him.

“I’m going to use you for my seat,” she told him. “I’m going to use you  for seat and sit on you. You’re my slave and I can do anything I want to  you… I’m going to sit on your face.” She sat down on his upturned face,  the same way she had sat on him as a mannequin. “You make a comfy  seat,” she told him. “… just something for me to sit on.”

Brad felt her weight on top of his face, as it was when he was a  mannequin. The striking difference was, though, that he couldn’t  breathe. He was smothering under her warm butt.

“How’s this, Melissa?” she asked, crossing her legs. “Am I crushing  you?” she asked Brad, not thinking he was unable to respond with her  butt covering his face. Even though his lungs were starving for air, he  loved the feeling of her sitting full weight on his face.

“How long should I sit on him?” she asked Melissa.

“Not too long at a time,” said Melissa. “He can’t breathe.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Jenna exclaimed, getting up off his face. “I forgot I was smothering you.”

“Transform,” Brad said to himself, and he quickly turned back into the  mannequin. As a mannequin, he looked over at his real self, lying on the  couch.

Jenna spoke to his real self. “I wish you were this mannequin so I could  really use you for a seat,” She looked down at him as a mannequin and  sat down on his mannequin face. As he lay there, crushed beneath her  butt, he became aware of the striking difference between himself as a  live person and himself as a mannequin. When Jenna sat on his face as a  live person she displayed a perceptible caution. Rightly so, she was  concerned about hurting him. But when she sat on his face as a  mannequin, she just plopped down nonchalantly on his face. That was what  it felt like being used as a real seat by a girl or woman… Sitting on  his face as a live person was an act. Sitting on his face as a mannequin  was as natural to her as sitting on any other inanimate object. He  wondered if the two entirely different ways of relating to him would  eventually come together, that she would become desensitized to using  him as a seat when he was a live person with the same absence of concern  for his discomfort she displayed towards him as an inanimate mannequin.  

It soon became obvious to him that that is what Melissa was trying to  achieve with a mannequin. She wanted Jenna to learn to simply sit on his  face as a live person with the same disconnect from his humanness as  she would sitting on a mannequin.

Jenna continued to sit on his mannequin face when Brad decided to try  something. He thought the word: transform. Immediately, he was his live  self looking at Jenna sitting on the mannequin. He wanted to discover  just how naturally dominating Melissa was and asked her: “Melissa, do  you ever sit on a slaves’ face yourself?

Melissa smiled at him. “Do you want me to sit on your face?”

“Well,” said Brad, “If it would help Jenna be more comfortable with it.”

Melissa approached the couch where he lay. “I must warn you,” she said. “When I use a man for a seat… I… just… sit on him.”

Jenna watched intently as she continued to sit on the mannequin’s face.  Melissa told her, “I’ll show you how it’s done.” She stood next to the  couch where his head was. He peered upwards at her tanned thighs and at  the underling of her tan mini-skirt, a view that allowed him to see her  butt, slightly covered by pink panty material.

“When I use a man as a seat,” she told Jenna. “I simply sit on him.” Her  knees bent and rounded butt began to descend to his face, “Like this.”

Melissa sat down heavily upon his face, forcing his head deeper into the  couch. “You see, Jenna, I really don’t care if I hurt him. He’s being  paid to be a seat, so this is how I sat on him.” She shifted her butt a  little, making herself comfortable atop his face, and crossed her legs.  “Do you think you could sit on him like this?”

“Don’t you care if you squish him?” said Jenna.

“No,” replied Melissa. “I love squishing him under my butt. I’ve been using men as a seat since I was in college, as you are.”

“Really?” said Jenna. “And they let you do that to them?”

Melissa continued to casually torture his face, sitting full weight on  it, while she spoke to Jenna. “Some men are submissive,” she told her.  “They love being dominated by women… even to the point where I can use  them as a human seat and sit on um.”

“Hmmm,” said Jenna. “Do you think that Brad likes it when you sit on his face?”

“I have a feeling he does,” said Melissa. She arose part way up from his  face, her lovely rounded butt looming above him and shifted her hips to  one side. Looking down at him she said, “Do you Brad? Do you like being  my seat?”

Brad deliberately paused a few moments before answering. He was enjoying  the view of her splendid butt hovering over him, and of her smooth  thighs, closed and forming a V shape which rounded her butt into an  erotically menacing fleshy orb, hovering above him.

“Actually… Yes,” her replied.

“I thought so,” said Melissa. “I know a natural when I see one.” She sat  back down on his face, overpowering it with her butt and weight.

“But he can’t breathe,” said Jenna.

“Yes… of course,” said Melissa. “Isn’t is wonderful… His life is in my  hands… I could sit on his face, like this, and smother him to death, if I  wanted to.”

“Oh!” said Jenna. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t worry,” said Melissa. “I won’t kill him… but I love the idea that  I could if I wanted to.” She got up off his face and he gasped for air.  He looked at Jenna, still seated on the mannequin’s face.

Melissa asked her, “Want to try it again?’

“Okay,” said Jenna, getting up from the mannequin. She stepped up to  him, her high heel sandals clumping on the floor, a reminder to him that  she, indeed, had weight-- sexily as it was in such an appealing way--  and could hurt him with it. That was exactly what he loved. He loved the  contrast between soft femininity and actual human weight with the power  to cause him discomfort.

Jenna looked down at him and said, “If you like being used as a seat and  sat on… I’ll… really… Sit on you.” She flipped the back her skirt up  over his head and sat down heavily on his face. Then she said, “ I wish I  could flatten you out a bit.” She arose a few inches above his face and  then slammed her butt back down on it several times. His head and nose  hurt from the relentless assault from her weight. He wondered if she had  broken his nose. But, curiously, it didn’t seem to matter to Jenna now.  It appeared as if she was intent on using him exactly the same as she’d  use a seat, sitting full weight on his face without regard for his pain  and discomfort. She crossed her legs and spoke to Melissa.

“I think I’m getting used to this, Melissa.”

“It’s the power, isn’t it,” said Melissa.

“Um… Yes… the power… I love the idea that I can use him as a seat, a nothing, and sit my butt on him.”

Brad heard the clump clump of Melissa’s high heel sandals nearing the  couch. Suddenly, he felt additional weight come down on his chest and  stomach. Melissa had sat down on him, along side Jenna. Their combined  weight forced the couch down farther. Brad lay crushed under both of  them, torturing his body with their weight, covering a good share of his  body with their warm butts. It felt the same way it had back at the  shop when he was a mannequin, when Melissa and her shopkeeper woman  friend had both sat on him. Again, though, the striking exception to  this experience was that he couldn’t breathe. As a real person he was  smothering under Jenna’s butt.

“Transform,” he said to himself and was zapped back into the mannequin  laying on the other couch. He looked over at Melissa and Jenna sitting  on his live self. It was the same scene he’d witnessed after helping the  old woman across the street, when he saw those two coeds dominating a  bench with their sensual weight. But he also saw himself squirming as he  tried to breathe.

Jenna got up off his live self and walked over to his mannequin self. “I  think I’ll sit on… this… Brad,” she told Melissa and sat down heavily  on his face. Again, he felt the same crushing weight of her butt mashed  onto his face, but he didn’t need to breathe. She crossed those  beautiful thighs and sat on him with the same detachment to him as a  human being as she related to him as any other inanimate object.

“Which one do you prefer sitting on?” asked Melissa.

“Well,” said Jenna. “I like sitting on Brad the mannequin… but I also  like the feeling of power of sitting on the other Brad, the one who  can’t breathe when I plop down on his face.”

“Interesting, isn’t it,” remarked Melissa, but which one?”

“Well,” said Jenna. “I guess I’d… rather… sit on the other Brad. I’ve  never met a man who wanted a girl to sit on his face like that. I just  wish he was this mannequin so I could sit on him as long as I want.”

“Yes,” agreed Melissa, “I know what you mean. When I sit on a man’s  face, I want to just keep sitting on him, and it’s frustrating. I know I  can’t do that without suffocating him.” Again, Brad head the familiar  sound of Melissa walking over closer to him as a mannequin. She sat down  heavily on his mannequin chest and stomach.

“Oh, Brad,” said Jenna to his real self lying on the other couch. “Can’t  you be more like this mannequin so we can really use you for a seat and  sit on you?

“Maybe,” said his real self on the other couch.

“What do you mean, maybe?” asked Jenna. “How can you do that? In case  you haven’t looked lately, you are not a mannequin.” She giggled and  Melissa also chuckled.

“If they only knew,” thought Brad as he lay crushed under them.

After Melissa and Jenna sat on Brad’s face as a mannequin, it seemed  easier for Jenna-- the college girl Melissa had recruited to do a human  furniture video-- to sit on his face as a human being. Neither women  knew of the mysterious power he now possessed-- the power to change  himself from a live person into a mannequin by simply thinking the word  “transform.” What was even more bizarre was that after the  transformation, he could actually be in two places at once-- both  mannequin and his live self. He was now able to experience the  difference between a woman sitting on his face as what she perceived to  be an inanimate object and sitting on his face as a live person she was  pretending to use as an inanimate object. By sitting on him as an  inanimate object, Jenna was rapidly becoming desensitized to him as a  live person. And that was exactly what Melissa was hoping to achieve  when she bought the mannequin.

Melissa positioned the camera and lights and said to Brad and Jenna, “Okay… Let’s do this.”

Brad laid down on the couch. Jenna, dressed in plaid mini-skirt, white  blouse which pushed out at perky breasts, and high heel sandals with  ankle socks, took her cue from Melissa. She walked into the scene and  stood next to the end of the couch where his head was. Swishing the hem  of her skirt over tanned thighs she looked down at Brad and said:  “You’re my slave… I own you and I can do anything I want to you… I’m  going to sit on you… I’m going to sit on your face.” She turned around  and stood a moment with her back to him, the underlining of her skirt  hovering above him and displaying her tight buttocks, slightly covered  with panty material.

Jenna began to sit down, her skirt flying over his face as her rounded  butt descended to it’s fleshy target. She sat down hard, his face  engulfed in female butt, and allowed her weight to push his head deeper  into the couch.

Remembering her lines she said, “You make a comfy seat… I think I’ll  just sit on you for awhile.” She crossed her legs and sat on his face.

“Cut,” said Melissa.

“Huh?” asked Jenna. “Did I do something wrong?”

Melissa turned the camera off. “Jenna, honey, you’re still being too  easy on him. He’s only your seat, remember? Don’t be afraid to really  sit on him.”

“But,” said Jenna, still perched heavily atop his face. “I… could… hurt  him… He’s not like that mannequin over there.” She got up from Brad’s  face, her skirt following her accent.

“Well,” said Melissa. “Try it with the mannequin again.”

“Transform,” Brad thought to himself and was zapped into the mannequin  laying on the other couch. Jenna walked into the scene and approached  him, now a mannequin, completely unaware he was able to see and feel her  presence. She swished the hem of her skirt and looked down at him.  “You’re my slave,” she told him. “I own you and I can do anything I want  to you… I’m going to sit on you…I’m going to sit on your face.” She  turned around and stood a moment with her back to him, the underling of  her skirt hovering above him, as it was with the live Brad. Then, her  skirt flying over his mannequin head, she sat down on his mannequin  face, engulfing it beneath her splendid butt.

“There is a difference,” thought Brad. This time she had sat on his face  more nonchalantly, with total indifference to him as anything but  something to sit on. She crossed her legs as she sat heavily on his  mannequin face.

“Like this?” she asked Melissa.

“Yes,” said Melissa. “Just like that.”

“I’m going to squish you, Brad,” she was telling his live self on the  other couch as she sat on his mannequin face. “If I sit on you like  this… I’ll squish you.” Then she told his real self again. “I wish you  were this mannequin so I could… just… sit on you.”

“You can,” his live self on the other couch told her. “Sit on me just like you’re sitting on the mannequin.

“Melissa,” she said as she continued to sit on his mannequin face. “I’m  having a hard time viewing Brad as a seat for me to sit on… I’m afraid  I’ll hurt him… He’s not the same as this dumb mannequin.” She  demonstrated her indifference to him as an inanimate object by raising  up and letting her butt drop down harshly on his face. “I like sitting  on this mannequin,” she told Melissa. “I’d like to take him home so me  and my roommates can sit on him.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Melissa. “Do the scene right and you can have-- well maybe borrow-- the mannequin.

“Really?” said Melissa, excited. “Oh, cool!”

She got up from his mannequin face and got ready for another take. She  adjusted her skirt and walked into the scene. “Transform,” thought Brad  and turned back into his real self on the other couch. Jenna approached  the couch, swishing her skirt, and saying her lines. This time, when  Jenna looked down at him as a live person, Brad could see much more  indifference in her lovely brown eyes. Even her voice was different.  When she said, “Sit on your face,” it sounded more like her talking to  him as a mannequin. She sat down heavily on his face and crossed her  legs. “You make a comfy seat… I think I’ll sit on you awhile.” she told  his live self. And indeed she did. He could not breathe as a real  person. Jenna continued to sit full weight on his face, her legs crossed  casually, as he strained to breathe.

As it was in the script, Jenna continued to sit on his face as she  brushed her lustrous blonde hair. Brad’s lungs hungered for air that was  not available as her weight and butt focused tortuously on his face. He  was allowed a thin slice of vision where her elevated thigh crossed  over the other. His eye followed the under part of the thigh to where it  met with her knee and then angled back down, and glimpsed the  underlining of her skirt draped over it.

Jenna hummed a tune to herself as she sat nonchalantly on his face. He  loved the feeling of her completely dominated him, a live person, as her  seat, and decided to get a complete view of it. “Transform,” he thought  to himself. He was instantly turned into the mannequin on the other  couch, and looked over at Jenna sitting on his live self, his head and  part of his chest concealed beneath her butt as she sat on him, casually  brushing her hair. Then he slid his mannequin eyes over to where  Melissa stood with the camera aimed at the human couch scene.

“Cut,” said Melissa. “That was great, Jenna.”

Brad watched with his mannequin eyes as Jenna got up from sitting on his  live self. She looked down at his live self and said, “Are you okay,  Brad? Did I squish you?” Then she turned to Melissa. “Look,” she said,  “His face is all red.”

“Oh, that’s normal, honey,” said Melissa. “Okay, that was a good shoot.  Melissa turned the camera off, approached his mannequin body and sat  down heavily on his face. “The redness will go away,” she told Jenna as  she sat on his mannequin face. Brad lay there with Melissa casually  sitting on his face. She crossed her legs, and Brad got another view of a  smooth thigh crossed over the other.

“Do I get to keep him?” asked Jenna, referring to the mannequin.

“Well,” replied Melissa. “Maybe you can borrow him… I’d like to use him when I’m training other girls to face sit.”

“Oh, cool!” exclaimed Jenna. Brad heard the familiar sound of heels on  floor as Jenna walked over to where Melissa was sitting on his mannequin  face. He got a glimpse of her knees as she turned and sat down on his  mannequin chest and stomach. As usual, his body sank deeper into the  couch from the added weight of Jenna also sitting on him.

“My roommates will think it’s fun to have a mannequin to sit on,” she  told Melissa. Then she added, speaking to his real self. “Unless you’d  let us sit on, you, like this Brad.”

“I might consider it,” said Brad with his real self voice.

“Forget it,” said Jenna. “You couldn’t handle all of us sitting on you. I  have three roommates… If all four of us decided to sit on you at the  same time, you’d be flat as a pancake.” She giggled. “But we could all  sit on this mannequin. He wouldn’t care if we all sat on him together,  would you mannequin,” she said to his mannequin self. Little did she  know Brad could feel the crushing weight of she and Melissa sitting on  his mannequin body, although, as a mannequin, he didn’t have to breathe.  Melissa and Jenna could sit on him for hours, if they wanted to, and  he’d still be his mannequin self, but the crushing pain of their butts  and weight atop him would be intolerable.

“Well,” said Jenna. “May I borrow him?”

Melissa shifted her butt around atop his face and crossed her other  thigh. “Well… I suppose,” said Melissa, “If you promise not to break  him.”

“We won’t break him,” replied Jenna. “It’ll be so funny. I’ll put him on  our couch, and when my roommates, Angie, Emily, and Lea come home I’ll  tell them he’s a couch cushion and sit on his face.”

“Why not me?” Brad asked her with his real self. “I’ll be your couch cushion.”

“We would crush you,” Jenna told his real self. “And I’m sure that  Emily, at least, wouldn’t sit on your face if she’s wearing a skirt.  She’s too shy for that. Besides, if all four of us sat on you…” She  paused a moment as she did some math in her head. “You’d have about five  hundred pounds crushing your body. And what if one of us decided to sit  on your face while we’re watching T.V. You’d get smothered to death by  the time we got up.”

Of course Brad knew it to be true. The only way he could truly be used  as something to sit on is when he had turned himself into the mannequin.  

Said Melissa, “I had a slave once who wanted me to sit on his face until I smothered him to death.”

“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Jenna. “He must have had a death wish. You didn’t do it, did you.”

“I must admit I was tempted,” said Melissa. “He told me he wanted to die  under a woman’s butt. I played along with him. I pretended I was going  to sit on him to death… I sat on his face until he passed out. Then I  got up.” Melissa and Jenna laughed. “Have you ever thought about that,  Brad?” Jenna asked his real self. “Ever want a woman to sit on your face  till you’re dead?”

“Well,” said Brad with his real self voice. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

Jenna giggled. “If I ever decide to kill you, I know how to do it.”

Melissa arose from his tortured mannequin face, the scent of her womanly  butt still lingering about his head. Then Jenna got up off his chest  and stomach.

“Okay,” said Melissa. “I’ve got some editing to do. Go ahead and take the mannequin home with you, Jenna.”

Brad transformed himself back into his real body. “I wish it were me you were taking home to sit on,” he told Jenna.

“I’m sure you do,” said Jenna. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”

Melissa paid him a good amount of money for his services and he left  inside his real self. He had to remain in his real body for the time  being. But as soon as he’d gotten into his car and drove off, he stopped  at a nearby city park and turned off the engine. “Transform,” he said  to himself, and suddenly found himself back inside the mannequin. Jenna  was carrying him to her car. He looked up at her with his mannequin eyes  as Jenna placed him on the front seat of her car, folding his legs. He  looked up under the steering wheel and realized that Jenna was going to  sit down on his face while she drove home. She raised one foot and  placed it on the floor board. Her skirt went over his head as she lifted  the other foot and sat down on his mannequin face, pushing his head  deep into the car seat from her weight. Even though she was sitting on  his face, the car seat was low enough down that he could see the under  part of her smooth thighs as she worked the car pedals. Her car was a  four speed standard shift, and each time she pushed on the clutch to  shift or on the brake, he could see her calves raise up a little. He lay  there with Jenna sitting on his mannequin face, feeling the movement of  the car each time she made a turn or stopped for a light. After driving  for awhile with Jenna’s butt mashing his mannequin face, she stopped  the car and got out. It was a tremendous feeling of relief when she  finally removed her butt and young-womanly weight from his head.  Grinning, she looked down at him and dragged him out of the car.

Brad realized he was at an old house in the college campus part of the  city. He gazed up at her sexy body as she dragged him into the house.  Once inside the house he looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone  home except Jenna. She laid him on his back on a couch. “I think I’ll  call you Brad,” she told his mannequin self. This is going to be so fun  when my roommates come home and find you lying there. You’re lucky, you  know. Brad-- I mean the other Brad-- would love to be where you are,  waiting for us girls to sit, all over, on you.” Jenna then sat down on  his mannequin chest and crossed her shapely thighs. I wonder where they  are?” she said. “They must have gone out for the night. I wish they’d  come home. Maybe they’ll sit on your face… Brad,” she said, giggling and  patting his face. Jenna was talking to his mannequin self as if he were  a live person. She had no idea he could see her, hear her, and feel her  weight as she sat on his mannequin chest. After sitting on his chest  for awhile, Jenna got up and came back with what looked like a college  text book in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit on your face  while I study,” she told him. Then she added, “This is so dumb. “You’re a  mannequin. Of course you don’t mind if I sit on your face.” And, again,  he watched as her knees bent, allowing her butt to descend to his face  with her skirt nonchalantly over his head. Jenna sat on his face as she  would any other inanimate object, forcing his head deeper into the couch  beneath him. She crossed her legs as she sat on his face. He heard the  faint sound of pages turning.

Jenna had been sitting on his face for, what seemed to Brad, like at  least an hour. He lay there crushed beneath her panty clad butt, and he  peered under one thigh and at the end of the other thigh that was  crossed over it, as she unconsciously dangled a foot.

Even though, as a mannequin, he did not need to breathe, her continued  weight on his face was pure torture. But of course, she had no idea how  much discomfort she was causing him. To Jenna, he was just something  else to sit on.

“Jenna!” he heard an unfamiliar voice. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting on Brad, Lea,” she told the other girl. “He’s a mannequin. His name is Brad.”

“Where did you get him?” asked her roommate, Lea.

“That’s a secret,” said Jenna. “Don’t you think he makes a fun couch cushion?”

Lea laughed. “You’re sitting on his face, Jenna.”

“Yep,” said Jenna. “Brad has to let me sit on his face if I want to.”  Then she added, “Wanna sit on him, Lea?” Jenna arose from his face and  Brad could see who she was talking to. Lea was a tall, dark-haired girl.  She was wearing a low cut black dress and dark nylon stockings. Like  Jenna, she was beautiful. Brad thought she was just the kind of girl he  often fantasized using him as human furniture. Lea stepped up closer to  the couch. “You say his name is Brad?” She gazed down at him with the  indifference only a girl would show an object, a chair, bench, or  cushion she was considering sitting on.

“Yes,” said Lea. “I guess I, will, sit on you… Brad.”

“Sit on his face, Lea,” Jenna encouraged.

“Well,” said Lea, as she approached the end of the couch where his head  was. “I guess… If you don’t mind if I sit my, butt, on your face… Brad,”  she said and laughed. Lea began to sit down on his face, but she  smoothed the black material of her dress over her butt, which  disappointed Brad, and sat down on his face.

“I wouldn’t want… Brad… to see under my dress when I sit on his face,” she told Jenna, and laughed.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Jenna. “He’s only a mannequin.”

“I know,” said Lea. “I was just messing with you.” Lea arose from his  face and flipped the back of her dress over his head. Brad got a glimpse  of Lea’s rounded butt, barely covered with lacy black panties, before  she sat back down on his face.

“There,” said Lea. “Are you happy? She crossed her dark nylon covered  thighs as she sat on his face, crushing it beneath her college coed  butt.

“I know someone,” said Jenna, “a real live man, who would love it if you sat on, him, like that.”

“Really?” said Lea. “Why would someone want me to sit on his face. I’d crush him.”

“That’s what, I, said,” added Jenna. “I guess he likes pain.”

“He must like pain,” said Jenna, “if he would want me to sit on his face, like this.”

Brad was loving the experience of Lea sitting on his mannequin face,  while at the same time wondering why a man would want her to sit on his  face. Lea continued to sit on his face, and then Brad felt his torso  pushed into the couch as Jenna sat down on his chest. Lea and Jenna  simply sat on him as the chatted about school and future plans. Brad  thought, the old woman he helped across the street had given him what he  asked for: he was now being treated the same as the bench he had seen  those two coeds sitting on. He had the singular function, to these  girls, as that bench-- simply something to sit on.

After getting his body sat on by Jenna and Lea for awhile, Brad heard two more female-sounding voices.

“What in the world is that?” asked one of them. “Is that a person you’re sitting on?”

Lea and Jenna laughed. “You wish,” said Lea. “Nope. He’s just a  mannequin. Jenna got him from someplace. We’re using him as a couch  cushion.”

“Oh, fun!” said the girl. “I wanna sit on him.”

Lea got up off his face, and Brad saw the two newest girls to arrive  home. One of the girls was kind of short. She was a pretty brunette. She  was wearing denim jean shorts and a tight-fitting tank top, well  endowed in that part of her anatomy. She had a slim waist which flared  out to meet ample hips and a tight butt. The other girl was medium  height, with blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. She had on a short  denim mini-skirt and was wearing sneakers.

“This is so fun,” said the girl with the denim shorts. She came closer to the couch. “Can I sit on his face?”

Brad looked up at the girl standing above him. He gazed longingly at her  tanned, firm thighs and her tight, jean-covered butt. And upwards at  those ample but firm breasts pushing out her tank top. He guessed that  she weighed maybe one fifteen or twenty, and it excited him that she was  about to sit down on his face with all of those one hundred fifteen  pounds.

“His name is Brad,” said Jenna.

“Hi, Brad,” said the girl. “I’m going to sit on your face.” She turned  around and began to sit down, her legs together, rounding her butt and  tapering her legs into a V form which met with her bent knees. She  halted her descent, just for a moment, and glanced back down at him-- as  if to get a better aim for his face, and then her butt drop down  heavily on his face.

“So… How do you like my butt on top of your face, Brad.” said the girl.

“Oh… Really,” said the other girl. “… placing a mannequin on our couch so we can sit on him.”

“Oh… Emily,” said the girl who was sitting on his face. “Don’t be such a  spoil sport. It’s not like he’s a live person.” She got up off his face  and patted it. “Have a seat, Emily.”

“I am, not, going to sit on his face,” said the blonde, pony tail girl with the denim skirt.

“Well then… Sit somewhere else on him. Sit on his chest or something,”  said the girl with denim shorts who had just tortured his face with her  butt.

“Yeah, Angie,” said Emily to her. “You…would probably sit on his face even if he were a live person.”

Angie laughed. “I probably would, if I had any volunteers.”

“All… Right,” said Emily, the girl in the denim skirt. “I’ll sit on  him…I’ll sit… here… on his chest.” she plopped down hard on top of his  chest. Her skirt rode up high after she sat down. Brad admired her  lovely thighs and her butt spread out over his torso. She sat on him for  only a few moments and then got up.

“Come on, Emily,” said Lea. “Sit on his face. We’ve all sat on his face but you.”

“Nope, I won’t, said Emily.

“Oh yes you will,” said Angie. She pushed Emily backwards, forcing her to sit down squarely on his face.”

“Very… Funny,” said Emily, who was now sitting on his face, her denim skirt over it when she sat down.

Brad was entrance by the experience of being used as something to sit  on, so casually, so nonchalantly by these sexy coeds. But he suddenly  heard a voice in his head-- and unfamiliar voice.

“Are you okay, sir?” A woman was speaking to him. “Are you sick? Are you okay?”

Brad suddenly remembered he had left his real self back at the city park, where he had stopped to transform himself.

“Transform,” he said to himself, and was zapped back into his real body.  A woman was looking at him through the car window. “Huh?” he said.

“Are you okay, young man?” she repeated. “You’ve been sitting in your  car, just staring into space. I became worried that you might be sick or  something.”

“Oh… No,” Brad told her. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I was just… lost in thought.”

“You must have been really, deep, in your thoughts,” said the woman,  chuckling. The woman went away, and Brad re-oriented himself to the real  world.

After his experience as a mannequin, with Jenna and her roommates  sitting so casually on his face and body, it was difficult for Brad to  focus on the real world. He had to constantly remind himself that he had  a life as a real person, that he was a college student with perhaps a  good job in his future. He loved college. He loved the life of academia  and it’s world of ideas to reflect upon. But the fetish he’d had for as  long as he could remember, the desire, even the need, to be used as  something for women and girls to sit on, was always ever-present and  powerful. He now had a special gift, the ability to transform himself  into the mannequin at will simply by thinking the word: transform. He  soon discovered it was not easy to not think of a word when that word  can so dramatically change your reality. He had to learn to trick his  mind during internal monologue by using the word quickly in connection  with other words, for as soon as he concentrated on the word he would  find himself changed into the mannequin.

That evening at his apartment, he reflected upon earlier events in  Jenna’s apartment as the mannequin. He mentally relived Jenna sitting on  his mannequin face as she drove to the house she shared with her three  roommates. He recalled the feeling of complete helplessness as Jenna  dragged him up the stairs to their house, his angle of vision so low  that with each step she took her hips and skirt swayed outward over his  face, her firm thighs and bikini clad butt hovering momentarily above  his face. The very promise that Jenna was taking him home with her for  the purpose of sitting on him had been such a turn on. Jenna had  borrowed him from the video producer Melissa. But, at least temporarily,  Jenna owned him. He was her property-- a thing-- and object without  feelings, particularly sexual feelings, which allowed her to circumvent  all social mores, to let her skirt drift over his face as she sat on it  so nonchalantly. Although as a mannequin he did not have to breathe, he  could still feel her body weight and his face mashed beneath her butt as  she sat. Her relentless weight atop his face was a mixture of pain and  pleasure. The pleasure was not only the feeling of her butt on his face,  but also the fact that she was causing him so much discomfort without  realizing it. To Jenna, his face was as inferior as any common chair or  couch cushion. And she used it the same way: simply sitting on it.

Jenna’s roommates, Angie, Lea, and Emily had all sat on his face, as  well. Angie and Lea had no problem with it. It was Emily, the pretty  blonde coed, who was more conservative. She had sat on his face, but  only after Angie pushed her backwards on top of it. It was very  difficult to get the experience out of his mind. He so wanted to change  himself back into the mannequin, but chose to study instead.

Brad succeeded in studying for about an hour when, suddenly, he heard a  female voice in his head say, “I’m going to sit on you, Brad.” The voice  sounded so real it startled him, causing him to glance around the room.  But he was alone. The sexy young female voice didn’t sound like Jenna  or any of her roommates. Then the voice said, “I think I’ll sit… here.” A  feeling of rough fabric pushed his head backwards. “What is going on?”  he said aloud. He then thought the word he’d been trying to block from  his mind. “Transform,” he said to himself. He immediately found himself  back into the mannequin and felt her full weight on his head. A girl  with tight, denim jean shorts was sitting on his face.

“This is wild,” said the girl, chuckling. “Finally… A man’s face we can sit on.”

“Yeah,” he heard Angie saying. “Too bad he isn’t real.”

Then Brad felt Angie’s weight as she let her butt drop down on his  crotch and stomach. She bounced on it a couple times, laughing.

The girl who was now sitting on his face wasn’t one of Jenna’s  roommates. He surmised it was a friend of Angie… Angie, the beautiful  brunette who seemed the most excited about sitting on his mannequin  body, and had expressed an interest in sitting that way on a live  person.

“Could you do that?” asked Angie.

“Huh?” said the girl atop his face. “Oh… You mean sit on his face… a live person?”

“Yeah,” said Angie. “Jenna says she knows a guy who wants girls to use him for a couch cushion.”

“Serious?” said the girl, crossing her legs and squishing his mannequin  head deeper into the couch. “This guy wants to be a couch cushion? And  we’d come over and… just… sit on him?”

“Yep,” said Angie. “Sit on him the same as we’re sitting on this mannequin. Wouldn’t it be fun!”

“I would do it,” said the girl atop his mannequin face. “I’d come over  and plop my, butt, right on his face… if he doesn’t care if I squish  him.” The girls laughed, and Angie added, “I think he’d change his mind  if we, really, used him as our couch and sat on him.” “Yes,” replied the  other girl. You’d probably hear his bones… crunch… every time we sat  down on him.” “However,” added Angie, “the couch would absorb some of  our weight when we sat on him… sort of like a shock absorber.” She  demonstrated by bouncing a few times on his crotch and stomach.

“It would still be a lot of weight on top of him,” said the girl,  un-knowingly torturing his mannequin face with her curvy weight.

“What are you and your sister talking about, Angie?” Jenna had come back  into the living room. Angie’s sister got up off his face. Angie’s  sister Mandy was a pretty brunette of about average height with a tight,  round ass and shapely thighs. Brad saw that Jenna was still wearing the  plaid mini-skirt and high heel shoes with frilly angle socks.

“My sister Mandy and I just love sitting on your mannequin.” said Angie,  still seated atop his crotch and stomach. She slid her butt over high  on his chest. “But who is the guy who wants girls to use him for a couch  cushion?”

“Why?” asked Jenna.

“What do you think,” said Angie, grinning. “So we can sit on him.”

“I can’t tell you that,” replied Jenna. Obviously she didn’t want them  to know she had acted in a video and sat on his live face.

“Oh come on,” pleaded Mandy, Angie’s sister who had been sitting on his  mannequin face. “We want to do it. We want to use a man for a couch  seat.”

“It’s impossible,” said Jenna, trying to change the subject. “You’d hurt  him. You’d smother him if you sat on his face… How do you expect him to  breathe with your big butts on his face.”

“Excuse me?” said Angie, chuckling. “My butt isn’t big.” She looked down  at his mannequin face and asked,” “Um… what’s your mannequin’s name…  Brad… Brad? Do I have a big butt?” She acted like she was listening to  him. “See? Brad doesn’t think I have a big butt.”

Jenna was now standing next to the end of the couch where his mannequin  head was. “What if you were wearing a skirt, like this?” said Jenna,  brushing the hem of her skirt above his head. “And sat on his face like  this…” She directed her hips into a sexy arc, her skirt flew over his  head, and sat down on his mannequin face.

“Well,” said Angie. “He’s suppose to be a couch cushion, right?… I’d sit  on his face. I don’t care if my skirt goes over a couch seat when I sit  on it.”

Jenna was, again, sitting on his mannequin face, her scantily clad butt  mashing his head into the couch beneath him. She crossed her golden  thighs. “I don’t know. I can’t. I just can’t tell you who he is.”

“Oh come on,” said Angie. “Tell us… We all love you. You can tell us.”  Brad felt the relief of her getting up from his chest. But then his head  pushed deeper into the couch. He surmised that Angie had sat on Jenna’s  lap, and may have put her arms around her, affectionately, in a further  attempt to get information out of her.

“Why won’t you tell us?” she asked. “Why is it such a big secret?”

“Well…What about Emily? Emily wouldn’t stand for it. You know how she  is,” said Jenna. “She wouldn’t even sit on the mannequin until you  pushed her down on his face.”

“If Emily doesn’t want to sit on him, she doesn’t have to,” said Angie. “There are plenty of chairs around here.”

“Chairs,” said Jenna. Then a thought crossed her mind. “Do you know  what?” She got up from his mannequin face. “This mannequin… The head  comes off.” Brad felt her tight grip on his head as she pulled it away  from the rest of his mannequin body.

“Oh cool!” exclaimed Angie. “Put his head on a chair seat.”

Brad stared up at Jenna as she carried his head away from his body. Even  though he was separated from his body, he could feel his cock warm at  the thought of what she was about to do. She placed his mannequin head  on a chair seat-- face up. He looked up her toned but soft female form,  up her skirt and her smooth thighs as she grinned at Angie and her  sister Mandy. Brad felt the extra hardness of the chair his head lay on.  He knew she was going to sit down, and it was going to be more painful  then the softer couch. But of course, to Jenna, he was an inanimate  object without feelings. It didn’t matter to her either way. She turned  around and sat down heavily on his mannequin face.

“I hope I don’t break him,” she said. “Melissa would not be happy.”

“Oh fun!” exclaimed Angie. “We could do that to that mysterious guy you  know… We could make him put his head on a chair seat and sit on him.”

“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Jenna. “Angie, you are so sadistic.”

“Well,” retorted Angie. “If he like getting sat on. I think he’d make a nice chair seat as well, wouldn’t he Mandy.”

“Oh yeah,” said her sister with an evil chuckle.

Emily had no idea how much pain she was causing Brad. The harder chair  seat offered little padding to absorb her weight on his decapitated  mannequin head. She sat on his face a few moments and then got up. Angie  practically pranced over to the chair with his head on it. Her rounded  butt, tight with blue jean shorts, descended to his face as she sat down  on it.

“I’d come over and sit on his face-- just like this,” she told Jenna.

“Angie,” said Jenna. “If you sat on a live man’s face like that, with  his head on a chair seat, you’d probably break his nose or something. He  wouldn’t let you do that to him.”

“You don’ t know that,” said Angie. “I am so intrigued at the idea of  using a man as something to sit on. Please tell us who this guy is.”

As Brad was forced to endure Angie’s butt and all her weight atop his  mannequin face, he realized that Jenna was right. It was torture enough  with her sitting on his mannequin face. If Angie had him rest his head  on a chair seat, as a live person, and sat on his face with her whole  weight… she would probably hurt him. Yet he admitted to himself that he  just might let her do it. The fetish was so strong it blocked out  rational thought.

“Tell us… Please,” begged Angie. “Who is this guy who wants to be used as a piece of human furniture?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Jenna. “Meanwhile, do you mind if I have his head back,” she asked, referring to the mannequin.

“Can’t I keep it for the night?” asked Angie. “Mandy is staying the  night with me. We want to take his head up to my room so we can sit on  it.”

“I suppose so,” said Jenna. “But don’t you break it.”

“We’ll be careful,” said Angie.

Angie removed her butt and her weight from his mannequin face. She  picked up his head, and Brad watched as she carried his separated head  to her room. Her sister Mandy walked along beside her, and Brad stared  up at the two girls towering above him.

“Where should we put him?” asked Mandy when they reached Angie’s room.

“On this chair,” said Angie, placing his head on a leather chair next to  a desk. She positioned his head so that he was facing up. “Now you just  stay there and don’t move,” said Angie. “So we can sit on you.”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” said Mandy, chuckling. She  approached the chair with a mischievous grin. She turned around and her  knees bent as she lowered her rounded butt, tightened with denim shorts,  onto his face. Mandy was by no means fat, yet she was a little heavier  than her sister. The chair beneath him creaked as she allowed her butt  to envelope his head, and her weight to push it harshly into the chair  seat.

“What was the mannequin’s name again?” she asked Angie.

“Jenna calls him Brad,” said Angie. “I wonder why she chose that name?”

“Yes, I wonder,” added Mandy, “If that guy she knows… the one who likes girls to sit on him, is named Brad?”

“Maybe,” said Angie. “But his name is going to be, seat, if I find out who he is.”

“Yep,” agreed Mandy. She crossed her tanned thighs as she sat on his  mannequin face. She shifted her butt around atop his face. The chair  beneath him groaned again, as if protesting her sitting on it. Brad felt  like groaning himself, but nothing came out of his motionless mannequin  mouth.

“It’s kind of hot in my room, isn’t it,” said Angie.

“Sure is,” agreed Mandy. “She lifted her butt from his face, and it  hovered above him, a blue denim sphere connected to tanned thighs. She  pulled down her denim shorts, revealing yellow bikini panties, and then  sat back down on his face. Brad watched as she slipped her shorts down  around her ankles and pulled them off. She displayed a compete absence  of modesty when sitting on what she perceived to be an inanimate object.  Brad wondered if she would act that way around him if he was there as a  live person.

“My turn,” said Angie. Mandy got up off his face, and Brad saw that both  girls had removed their clothing except for bra and panties. With bare  feet on carpet, Angie padded over to the chair. Brad marveled at her  petite and compact body, her perky breasts, her slim waist, and her  butt, now barely covered with pink panty material. With legs together  forming a triangular shape between butt and legs, Angie swooped her butt  over his face and let it drop, mashing his head into the chair beneath  him.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit on your face… Brad,” she said, coyly.

What an incredible feeling, thought Brad, getting sat on so casually by  these girls. But the question nagged him. Would they sit on him so  nonchalantly is he were there as a live person? Was it all talk? Girl  Talk?

Mandy turned the stereo on; and the room was filled with rock music.

“Oh, I love this song!” said Mandy.

While Angie sat on his mannequin face, Brad heard the sound of bare feet padding carpet. He surmised that Mandy was dancing.

“C’mon. Dance with me, Angie.” said her sister.

Angie removed her butt from his mannequin face and began to dance with  her sister. The two girls danced about the room, sometimes dancing close  to the chair with his head on it, their sexy bottoms swaying above him.  Brad thought this is the way it is with two girls alone in a room with  what they thought was merely an object-- something to sit on when they  wanted. When the tune they were dancing to stopped, Mandy was standing  next to the chair. Never knowing when one of them would decide to sit  down squarely on his face was incredibly exciting. Mandy stood a moment,  talking to her sister, as he lay there gazing upwards at her  young-womanly body. And then he saw that glance again-- that  woman-to-chair-seat glance-- and knew in an instant that she was going  to sit down. She want from a standing position to a rounded butt,  obscuring his vision in a mere second as she sat on his face. And,  again, she forced his mannequin head onto the chair seat with her  weight. He had to admit it was painful indeed with her entire weight  crushing his head. And, again, he admitted to himself that it was the  pain mixed with such close physical contact with her butt that so warmed  his cock, which was still attached to his mannequin torso in the living  room.

Mandy continued to sit on his face while she chatted with her sister  Angie. She had crossed her legs, and Brad felt the warmth of upper part  of her thigh pressing against his face. He loved the experience of being  mashed under her warm flesh, which grew hotter the longer she sat.

“Do you think I’m sadistic, Mandy?” asked her sister. “in wanting to sit on a live man’s face?”

Mandy shifted her butt around on his mannequin head. “It’s not like he  would be that comfortable to sit on,” said Mandy. “No. I don’t think  your sadistic. I guess it’s just the idea that we could use a live  person as a… as a nothing… a seat.” Then she added, “If you’re sadistic,  I must be too.” She arose part way off his face and then plopped back  down on it, giggling.

Brad heard a faint knocking at the door.

“Who is it?” asked Angie.

“Me,” came a faint voice from outside.

“Come on in, Emily,” said Angie.

Brad heard the door open. “Oh my gosh,” he heard Emily say. “Lea told me you pulled his head off and took it to your room.”

“Yeah,” said Angie. “We’re having fun sitting on it.”

Mandy got up off his mannequin face. Emily stood in the doorway, gazing  at his decapitated head. “Weird roommates,” she said. Emily was the shy,  conservative one of the girls. She still had on the denim mini-skirt  she was wearing when Angie pushed her down on his face.

“Anyway,” said Emily. “My laptop went down. May I borrow that extra lap top you have? I need it for classes tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” said Angie. She looked at her sister with a mischievous grin.

“Maybe?” asked Emily. “Well… Do you want to loan it to me or what?”

“On one condition,” said Angie.

“Huh?” said Emily. “What condition?” Then she looked over at Brad’s  mannequin head, placed on the chair seat. “Oh… I get it,” said Emily. “I  can borrow the lap top, but I suppose you want me to sit on his face.”

“yep,” said Angie.

“Jeez,” said an exasperated Emily. “He’s just a dumb mannequin. If it  means so much to you, I’ll sit on his face.” She strode over to the  chair. Pressing the denim mini-skirt into her butt and thighs she began  to sit down on his face.

“Wait,” said Angie.

Emily arose before her butt made contact with his face.

“Let your skirt go over his head,” said Angie.

Brad gazed upwards under Emily’s skirt as she stood next to the chair.  “Why?” asked Emily. “He’s not alive. It’s not like he can see up my  skirt.”

“If you only knew,” thought Brad as he stared upwards under her skirt,  marveling at her smooth thighs and tight butt, pink panties tucked into  the crack of it.

“It’s no big thing,” said Emily. She allowed her butt to descend to his  face again, but this time also allowing her skirt to go over his head.  Her rounded butt and weight concentrated on his face pushed it deeper  into the chair seat, engulfing it in pink panty material and tanned  flesh.

“There,” said Emily. “Now can I borrow your lap top?”

“Emily,” said Angie. “What if that was a real live man you’re sitting on?”

“If he were a live man,” said Emily. “I sure wouldn’t be sitting on his face like this.”

“Jenna knows this guy,” said Angie, “who wants girls to use him like a human seat.”

“A human seat?” said Emily. “And sit on him?”

“Yes,” replied Angie.

“Why would a guy want girls to sit on him and mash him?” asked Emily.

“We don’t know,” said Angie. “But wouldn’t it be fun.”

“No…way would I sit on his face,” said Emily.

Angie pressed on. “Even if the rest of us sat on him?”

“I wouldn’t sit on him-- especially on his face,” said Emily. “I’d be embarrassed… and I’d hurt him.”

Brad considered the paradox of the experience. Emily was sitting on his  face, her skirt over his head, her panty clad butt mashing it onto the  chair seat while expressing her disgust over doing it to a live person.  She shifted her butt a little on his face and crossed her thighs. “It’s  even weird sitting on this mannequin’s face,” said Emily. “But a real  person? I don’t think I could do it.”

“Well… anyway,” said Angie. “Jenna won’t tell us who he is.”

“Good,” said Emily. “Now… May I borrow your lap top?” She got up off his  face and stood next to the chair. Brad took in the up skirt view of  Emily as Angie handed her the lap top.

“Here,” said Angie. You earned it.”

Emily took the lap top and gazed back down at his mannequin head. “Just  by sitting on a mannequin’s face?” said Emily. “Any time.”

After Emily left, Angie said, “I think she’ll do it… sit on him, if we can find out who he is.”

“Do you think so. Why?” said Mandy.

“I could see it in her eyes,” said Angie. “She liked sitting on the  mannequin’s face. She just didn’t want to admit it to us, or herself.”

Angie and Mandy decided to go to bed, leaving Brad’s mannequin head  resting on the chair. He decided he’d had enough excitement for one  night. “Transform,” he thought to himself and he was back in his own off  campus room, looking blankly at a text book. He shook his head back  into the real word. He knew what he was going to do the next day-- what  he, had, to do. He was going to approach Angie and tell her that he was  the human seat Jenna spoke of. He had to find out if all the talk about  using him as a seat was just talk, or if they would actually do it. He  also asked himself why he couldn’t be satisfied getting sat on as a  mannequin. He dozed off while considering something about circumventing  social taboos.

The next morning during classes, Brad found it next to impossible to  keep his mind on college lectures. His thoughts were so far away a  professor may as well been talking about astronauts discovering green  cheese on the moon for all he knew. Brad wondered how he would find  Angie, and if he found her on campus, how he would divulge Jenna’s  secret: that he was the man she spoke of who wanted to be used as a  human seat. Even though, last night, when he was a mannequin and she had  sat on his mannequin face and had expressed a desire to use a live man  that way, what was he to do? Would he just walk up to her and offer her  his body to sit on? People say many things, but actually doing them can  be something else. He also wondered what was happening to the mannequin  at the girls apartment. He could turn himself into it any time he  wanted, but what was the point. The girls were all college students.  They were probably at school, as he was. All together, there were five  of them: Jenna, Lea, Emily-- the conservative one-- and Angie, the  petite brunette who, along with her sister Mandy, had sat on his face  the most, as a mannequin, and begged Jenna to tell them who he was so  they could use him as a piece of human furniture. 

He also recalled the day he had helped that mysterious old woman across  the street who had given him the power to transform himself into a  mannequin. And he recalled the shopkeeper, Marsha a dark haired beauty  in her thirties who had sat on his mannequin face, and Melissa, the  video producer who had bought him for girls to practice sitting on so  that they would be more comfortable sitting on a live man’s face. In  all, two women in their thirties and five college age girls had sat on  his face as a mannequin. But only Jenna and the video producer Melissa  had actually sat on his face as a live person. His mind became a blur of  sexy female butts descending to his face, followed by their weight,  mashing his head when they settled down on top of him.