The door to the upscale apartment living room creaked open, revealing a woman dressed in a sleek business suit. She strutted in, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors, and tossed her papers and laptop onto the nearby coffee table. As she did, a small figure lying on the floor came into view.
It was a femboy, using a pillow as a cushion for his face. The woman glanced at him, amused by his cuteness, before making a decision. She gently placed her bare bottom onto his face, eliciting a muffled protest from the femboy.
"Oh, you're even more comfortable than that pillow," she remarked, patting his head. The femboy struggled beneath her, trying to free himself, but she tightened her grip. "You're not getting away that easily, you little cushion."
She leaned back, sinking into his soft, squishy flesh, and let out a satisfied sigh. The situation was starting to turn her on, and she couldn't help but tease him. "You know, you're kind of cute like this. I could get used to this."
The femboy's struggles became weaker, and she realized that he wasn't moving as much. She lifted her bottom slightly, revealing his flushed face. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were closed. She became concerned and checked his pulse. It was weak, but still present.
She realized that she had accidentally asphyxiated him and felt a mix of guilt and excitement. She decided to continue sitting on his face, enjoying the feeling of power and control. She leaned back, sinking deeper into his soft flesh, and let out a satisfied moan.
She started to fantasize about identifying him as her property and continuing to use him in this way. She imagined the femboy willingly submitting to her, becoming her personal cushion. She felt a surge of arousal and started to grind her hips against his face.
The femboy's breathing became even shallower, and she realized that she was pushing him to his limits. But she couldn't stop, she was lost in her own desires. She didn't notice that the femboy had stopped breathing altogether.
She finally got up, realizing that she had accidentally killed him. She felt a mix of guilt and excitement, knowing that she had identified and asphyxiated the femboy to death. She decided to keep his body as a reminder of her power and control. She laid him on the couch, covering him with a blanket, and went to bed, feeling satisfied and content.
She fell asleep, dreaming of using the femboy's body in different ways, asserting her dominance and control over him. She woke up the next morning, still feeling the excitement of the previous night. She looked at the femboy's body, feeling a mix of guilt and satisfaction, and decided to continue using him in this way.
The woman stood up and stretched, a devious smile spreading across her face. "Well, good morning, cushion," she said, patting his head. "I hope you're ready for another day of service."
The femboy didn't respond, of course. But the woman didn't mind. She was in control now, and that was all that mattered. She picked up her papers and laptop from the coffee table and headed to the kitchen, leaving the femboy's body behind on the couch.
As she made her morning coffee, she couldn't help but think about the femboy. She wondered what he would have been like if he had been alive. But she quickly pushed the thought aside. He was her property now, her unwilling cushion. And she was going to enjoy every moment of it.
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