Freelancer Pt. 01-02

Her pants were almost completely wet now. This made breathing even harder if that was possible. He made small fart noises with her butt when he pushed the air out of his mouth. All subtlety had gone out the window now.

Rachel did not get up immediately. She could hear him crying under her and she knew she would have to do something soon. She could get up and let him have the rest of the day off. She was human after all. She enjoyed hurting him, but to make a grown man cry? She didn't know if she wanted that. But if she showed mercy now, she would be limiting what she could do to him. What about the next time he cried. Was she to let him off then too?

For now she was procrastinating. She gently nibbled on her pen (a bad habit picked up way back in school) and peered down at whatever she could see of him. She considered the alternative. She could draw a line in the sand. Make it clear to him that he had to keep at it no matter what. She made up her mind. It was easy once she made the decision. She was already angry at him for making her pants wet and being so loud under her. A woman is supposed to sit with dignity!

She sighed and got up, making a small wet 'slurp' noise as she did. She looked back down at his flattened face and winced. She quickly hid it, and replaced it with a stern expression before he opened his eyes. His face was all puffed up and red now. His nose was almost completely flattened, but tried to regain its shape slowly.

John lifted his head off, cupped it in his hands and started crying even harder. He could not hold on to any thought. Earlier there was only pain but now that the pain was suddenly gone, his emotions filled the gap and overwhelmed him.

Dr. Westwood was not fazed by any of this. John could clearly feel it. "I said, get up and sit on the patient's chair!" she said, without raising her voice. John hadn't heard her the first time. He didn't think he could obey her now either, but to his surprise he found himself sitting on the chair. It was as if his body had moved on its own. "Ok now look at me" she said, again readying her flashlight.

John couldn't do that. Not after... no. He simply couldn't. But once again his body chose to obey Dr. Westwood over him. He opened his bloodshot eyes and looked at the doctor. She did her examination gently probing different parts of his face, feeling out bruises. John winced when she touched the sore spots and cried out in pain when she tried to straighten his nose.

"Ok you're fine. But before you go back under-" she paused and made sure that she had his eye contact. "Before I sit on you again I need you to remind me what your job is. Can you tell me what your job is?" She was patronizing him. "T-To be your seat" he said, his voice hoarse from all the crying. "And what's the one thing a seat needs to do?" she asked again, her voice strict and steady. "Not move." John replied quietly.

"Good." Rachel seemed satisfied. John expected her to punish him or even fire him or cut his pay. She didn't do anything of the sort. What she did was worse. She went away for a while and came back wearing another pair of pants. The same ones she was wearing the day they first met, John noticed.

"If you make this one wet I'll cut your pay in half" she admonished him and gestured at him to lie down again. John understood. His body understood even better, as it moved on its own and resumed position. She approached him and swung her left leg over so that she was now standing over him. She didn't look back down. Slowly and deliberately she sat down, once again in the same painful position as earlier. John knew this was his place now.

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That incident was over a month ago. He had been sitting up, gently massaging his neck while lost in thought. The sound of a toilet flushing brought John back to his senses. Turned out he was right about her taking a bathroom break. The rhythmic "click-click" sound of her heels was approaching. He felt a heavy feeling in his heart.

Dr. Rachel Westwood walked back into her clinic and went over to a filing cabinet to search for some files. John hastily put his head back up on her seat. Some more ground rules had been established in the two months that he had been working for her. Whenever she was in the clinic, John had to have his head lying face up on her seat. She shouldn't have to gesture at him to assume position. He was a seat after all. Not a person.

Before he had put his face back, he managed to catch a glimpse of her. She was looking as sexy as ever, without even trying. She wasn't dressed up. She was dressed casually and yet he could see that she an insanely desirable woman. There would surely be men who would do anything for her. "But would they let her sit on their face for hours on end?", John asked himself with a sad smile.

Hot as Dr. Westwood was, John didn't feel aroused by her. Not anymore. She gave him nothing he wanted from a girl. She never touched him with her hands. She always commanded him with her voice or her gestures. Very rarely she might kick him gently, if he was struggling under her. But that was the extent of their physical contact. Well that and the firm weight of her butt constantly on his face. But somehow that didn't count. That wasn't an interaction between two people. That was just a lady sitting on her seat.

She barely even looked at him these days. It made sense. Do you always look at your seat before you sit? Add to this the fact that she hurt him really bad on a daily basis and it wasn't hard to explain why he wasn't exactly popping boners when she was around.

Rachel was taking her time in returning to her seat. Not that John was complaining. He caught a glimpse of her jean-clad butt as her lab coat whipped by. Jeans really brought out the innate beauty of her butt. If you could see her jean-clad butt and nothing else, you could still tell that it belonged to someone special.

But as she finally gathered her documents and approached him, he felt he only thing he did feel around her any more. Fear. Fear of how heavy she was going to be. Fear of how she would keep sitting mercilessly even when he was struggling for his life under her. Fear of just how worthless he must be to her, for her to keep on hurting him like this.

She swung her leg over his torso in a practiced motion, and stood bending over her desk, arranging her files, making sure she had everything. She wouldn't want to get up once she had sat down. Satisfied with her documents, she all-but dropped down on his face. She didn't bother to align her butt with his face anymore. She had the gist of where his face should be, and the rest was up to him. It was John's job to turn his face an inch to the left or right to make sure that her butt landed right on the center. It wasn't a choice. She demanded it.

He had to use his eyes to do this adjustment, but somehow close them in time before she sat down completely. The times when he had his eyes open when she sat down, the pain was on another level. What's more, he felt that his eyes would get permanent damage from rubbing against her butt. He couldn't even close his eyes because the bulk of her weight would be resting on his eyes.

She was wearing jeans again. Usually she had a separate collection of pants that she wore to sit on his face. Wouldn't want to dirty all her clothes with the occasional saliva drip. But recently she had also added a pair of jeans to that collection. Needless to say it hurt a lot more with the jeans.

As her butt crashed down on his nose. He gasped out inaudibly with pain and heard her stifle a giggle from atop his face. Dr. Westwood tried to keep it strictly as a business transaction.

It was lot harder with jeans. The main problem being that there was no place for his nose to go. When she was wearing something soft, it almost seemed like the act of her sitting on his face was something God Himself intended. How else do you explain the perfect fit? It was as if his face being plugged into her butt was its natural state.

The jeans however, didn't allow his nose to go anywhere. It would be flattened, which was unbearably painful. John soon developed his technique though. He just had to make sure his nose would bend to one side. It wasn't that this wasn't blindingly painful, but it was better, relatively. Her rough butt settled on his face with a finality as she lifted her legs up and rested them gently on his stomach.

The only bright side to this was that he could breathe a little easier now. No matter how her butt was resting on his face, he could still sneak in breaths. The jeans retained the shape of her butt for the most part, instead of filling up the shape of his face.

Unfortunately, Dr. Westwood also had advantages to wearing jeans. It barely hurt her at all to keep sitting on him now. Which meant that she didn't feel the need to give herself any breaks. She would sit almost continuously the whole time.

The first few minutes would be tough. Really tough. It was everything he could do to not throw her off. There were even moments when he felt like hurting her back somehow. He would quickly put those thoughts out of his mind. But after a while, his face would start to go numb. It would become so that he couldn't feel his face at all.

Except when she moved in the slightest. When that happened all the pain that he had been ignoring would return ten-fold, causing him to clench his fists in agony. Right now she was lost in thought and was gently shaking her legs without noticing it. Even this small movement made John's situation a lot more painful. Didn't her mother teach her to not shake her legs while sitting?

He was panting now, his nose rubbing against her butt with its movement. He could feel his skin getting chafed. John felt that there would only be bone left on his face after she was done. But from his experience, no matter how painful the session was, the damage was never as much as he thought.

Thankfully a client walked in and snapped the doctor back to her senses. She sat still now, performing the check up and writing out medicine. John too put aside all his pain and lay painfully still as the doctor did her job. This was his place now he realized.

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The day could not have ended sooner. Rachel got up, almost reluctantly, when it was time to close her clinic. John didn't gasp when she got up anymore. He maintained his position, lying face up and breathing gently. The session wasn't over until she said so.

"Alright I'm done for today. Fill up your duty sheet. I'll be back." she said and walked off without looking at him. John stood up, catching hold of her chair for balance. It took him a while to get used to being a walking talking human again after a session. When he finally came to his senses, he walked over to the sink in the clinic and washed his face, looking at himself in the mirror. His face looked different, he realized.

Not that different from yesterday, or even the day before. The change was gradual. But he could certainly see there were differences. And not the good kinds either. He wasn't handsome to begin with, but now even though he couldn't pin point what was different, he just looked.. bad. He wondered what he was doing letting this girl do this to him.

"Its all for the money. You need it." He reminded himself as he correctly filled out his duty sheet. Maybe, just maybe, he should think about quitting this job now. Sure, she paid well, but was it worth it? He had some savings now although not enough to make rent for more than a couple more months. But surely he could find something else before that?

Of course he could. If nothing else, this job had taught him discipline. He could do well at any soul-sucking job now. He would serve the hell out of those fries! He would welcome the opportunity to greet people with a smile, instead of being ignored all together.

John made up his mind. He had to quit. And he had to quit before he changed his mind. At that exact moment, Rachel walked back to the room. Instinctively, John's eyes darted to the floor. He still couldn't face her after a session. He handed her his duty sheet and stood looking down as she perused it and then signed it. It was a Friday. He would be getting paid. The perfect day to stop. All he had to do was collect his pay and let her know.

Soon enough, Dr. Westwood wrote him his weekly paycheck. He accepted it without looking at her and cleared his throat in an attempt to speak. But the words didn't come as easy as he had thought. It should be easy. Two small words that would net him his freedom from this.. this slavery! Just say "I quit!"

But he couldn't. Why couldn't he? He surely hated every moment she dominated his face as a seat. He surely felt emasculated and wanted it to stop. There was no positive side except the money. Or was there?

Before he could say anything however, Dr. Westwood asked him, "By the way, you can still come over tomorrow if you want some extra cash. I wont be running the clinic, but I can use you at home too. Your choice. I'll pay double the rate." She waited, looking at him for a response. John seemed confused, as if he was undergoing some internal struggle. "I guess right after a session is a bad time to ask huh? Never mind then", she said with a hearty laugh and proceeded to show him to the door.

"I'll come!" John said, surprising himself. Why did he say that just now? He was about to quit! Instead he had just agreed to work overtime! His fear of Dr. Westwood grew to a new level. This woman had changed his mind about quitting without so much as an effort. Was he.. was he never going to get out?

As he reached home and crashed into his bed, he curled up into a ball. He couldn't understand himself anymore. He could still call her and tell her it was over, but he knew that was surely not going to happen. He was going to wake up the next day and go back to doctor's house, letting her use his face as a seat again. As he drifted off to sleep, this horrifying thought of not being in control subconsciously turned to one of comfort instead. He had found his place. And maybe his peace as well.