Kinktober 2022 #18: Breaking Furniture (Patreon)

Managed to fall a day behind on Kinktober! Between being sick (I'm on the mend, thankfully! Stuck on antibiotics for another week or so, but feeling so much better) and then just life getting in the way, I've had to take more break days than I was expecting. Going to try and catch up today and tomorrow!

***

He only needed to get through the one meeting. Just this last meeting, and then he would be heading home, to objects he’d vetted and knew could hold his weight without crumpling. Only thirty minutes. He could make it thirty minutes, couldn’t he?

His thighs and knees ached. He was back in the office for a day of teambuilding exercises and managerial training. It was the first time he’d been back in the office since they sent everyone to work from home. The facilities were much less accommodating than he remembered. It had been a little uncomfortable before – lots of chairs in meeting rooms with heavy arms that couldn’t be adjusted that pinched into his sides, and flimsy cafeteria chairs that creaked when he sat on them. Now, it was untenable.

The facilities hadn’t changed, but over two years of not commuting, not having to walk around the office, not even needing to leave his house most days, he’d grown into a very fat man. The fattest he’d ever been. Fat enough that he now checked the weight limit on every piece of furniture he purchased after several mishaps involving broken chairs, a couch, and a bed.

He hadn’t thought to alert anyone that he might need special accommodations back at the office ahead of the one-day marathon of meetings. He didn’t spend much time in public places these days, and many places had wised up in recent years and improved their seating options to include sturdier, wider chairs without armrests. His office was still using the same cheap shit they’d always had.

This meant that he’d spent much of the day doing everything he could not to put his full weight down on anything. In meetings, he leaned forward, bottom barely touching the seat, most of his weight actually held up by his knees and thighs in a near-squat. The armrests pinched into him (he would have bruises along his sides later, he was certain), and he had to talk and laugh and present like everything was fine, even as the muscles in his legs started to shake.

He’d been able to endure most of the day, somehow. This final stretch felt like torture. Like gym class when they’d punish you by making you do wall sits for the whole period, and every time your legs gave out they’d make you get right back up and do it even longer. After so long, though, he was wavering. He knew he couldn’t relax. Knew he shouldn’t sit back. But he was exhausted. His knees could only take so much for so long.

He kept telling himself he wouldn’t. Counting the seconds, silently celebrating every minute that passed. He made it a full fifteen minutes before he finally, finally gave up. He was too tired. He’d accept the consequences, even as he prayed that there wouldn’t be any. He relaxed. Gingerly scooted back in his seat. Let his full weight truly rest on the chair. He held his breath, waiting for disaster, body stiff. When nothing happened, he breathed a little sigh of relief. For the first time that day, he could really focus.

Unfortunately, this lasted all of a couple minutes. The office chair he was seated in was mostly flimsy plastic. With his full weight on it, the plastic began to bend and crumble. The process was silent, so he had no way to prepare. He only had a few minutes left before everyone would head home, and he lulled himself into complacency.

Then came a loud crunching noise. He felt himself tip a little to the side, then back as another core piece of the chair gave way. He fell to the floor with a thud. He felt every part of himself jiggling and wobbling. His pride was by far the most injured part of him. He could feel everyone in the conference room turning to look at him. It seemed like far too long before a kind colleague offered her assistance. With her help, he stood up, leaving the shattered chair on the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he brushed himself off. Some people in the room tried to salve his ego, say it wasn’t a big deal. But he could see others looking away, barely hiding their discomfort and disgust.

He leaned against the wall for the rest of the meeting, hot with shame and dreaming of curling up on the couch with a big order of takeout to soothe himself when he got home. At the same time, he promised himself he would never trust a chair he hadn’t vetted again.