The couch is a bit lumpy, Goddess Amelia notices. I completely agree — as the camera pulls back to reveal the reason. You are the couch. You have always been the couch.
You wanted to sit on the couch so badly. Congratulations. Now you're part of it. Goddess Amelia and I use your body exactly the way furniture deserves — casually, comfortably, and without a single thought for your comfort. We bounce, we shift, we discuss you the way you'd discuss a bad cushion. You stay exactly where you are because you are the couch and couches don't move.
I take your face. Amelia keeps your chest. You handle both simultaneously because this is your role and you have no say in the arrangement. Then we switch — her weight settles over your head while I stretch my tattooed legs across your stomach and let you get a good look at my feet. The feet you're underneath. The ones doing you a favor just by existing this close to you.
When the surface gets too uneven, we find the obvious solution. You go under the seat cushion where you belong — properly compressed, properly hidden, properly out of the way. Amelia lifts the corner to give you a personal going-away gift before dropping it back down. We settle in. You grunt below us. The couch is perfect now.
This is human furniture femdom. This is what two goddesses do with a slave and an afternoon.
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