by Samantha Capps Emerson
(3/14/01)
I have never wanted to fuck a piece of furniture before. Sure, I've made good use of a few dining room sets, the obligatory four-poster bed, my piano bench, and many an overstuffed armchair during the heights of passion. But they were just accessories to the act, not willing participants. Most every home and hotel room is full of possibilities to engage the furniture in a little play when you're in lust, especially in assisting with some of my favorite words to hear from my love -- Bend over, baby.
I was once a bit infatuated with a "love-swing" I shared with an intensely creative Dom when we stayed at a "bed & bondage" inn. Playing on the swing was a sort of mix between feeling like you were back on the playground, free as a bird, and a fantasy of flying on the big trapeze in the circus. We could hang every which way from the swing,
and get at every orifice and every inch of skin available. A few sessions with the swing makes you realize why a plain old bed is such an awkward place for free-flowing lovemaking. Although I do like the kinky headboards that come all prepared with hideaway stockades and harnesses. But to move from the childlike pleasure of the love-swing to something more hardcore like the St. Andrew's Cross in the course of one weekend is my idea of heaven.
I used to be quite mad about plain old tables, probably due to those great erotic scenes where women get laid out across them and fucked, in movies like The Postman Rings Twice, Bull Durham, and 9 1/2 Weeks. This always works for me. Fuck me from behind, belly-down on the table. Lay me out flat and suck my clit until I am rolling off the table. Fuck me under the table, anywhere, any time -- home, restaurants, or discreetly at my mother's house. Am I the only one who watches Martha Stewart and wonders, has she ever been fucked on that kitchen table she's always fussing around?
But you could be the most creative lover in the universe, and still, I might have to sneak out and have an affair with my new object of desire:
The penis-barstool.
Ordinary dildoes will stand at attention in envy of this creation.
The penis-barstool sounds like such an innocent name, though -- let's call it the stud-stool. I would like to build an entire pleasure room around this concept, a pleasure room just like the ones described in the Kama Sutra, full of pillows and beds and toys and plants and songbirds. But in the center of my pleasure room would be a fountain, with sparkling red and gold water spraying high in intricate designs, and the fountain would be surrounded by a circular bar with, yes, a dozen Stud barstools.
I would have parties. I have girlfriends who would never leave this room. For Sunday brunch, we would choose a Stud, lift our skirts to bare our bottoms, sit down daintily, sip our mimosas, chat the day away, and fuck ourselves silly in the process. For Friday afternoon happy hour, we could get a little wilder -- a menage a trois-stool would only take two stools together, positioned just right, and we'd be downing tequila shots and delighting in double penetration at the same time.
And then when, or if, we let the men join in -- be still my...heart. Bend over baby -- the possibiities make me wet just thinking about them. Bend over the bar, baby, while I fuck you with this stool from behind. Or, sit on my lap baby, right here on the stool, yes,right here with the two cocks waiting for you. I think even the furniture would blush at the things I have in mind.
Fuck furniture is a bit expensive, as home decor goes, but these are works of art and passion and creativity. You do not find them at your local K-Mart, but only through specialized stores, and all over the Web. I believe that every romance can benefit from more special sexual attention and a lot more play. And you can always excuse the expense by using your penis-barstool as an extra chair at Thanksgiving. As Martha might say, if she happened to get that seat, "It's a good thing."
