When I first saw Olivia's ad, I was scrolling through an online platform for odd jobs and random meet-ups. I had started browsing those listings more regularly lately—because I wasn't the most social person and had been feeling increasingly alone. I had recently decided I should try being more open to meeting people, to push myself into new situations. The ad stood out immediately, detailed and assertive:

“I'm looking for someone to serve as a human cushion during my movie nights." That was the first line. I blinked and reread it.

“This is not a conversation or a shared experience." Alright… so no chit-chat. That already made my stomach flutter a little.

“Your role will be strictly functional: I will be sitting on you—for the entire duration of the film—on my couch, as if you were a piece of furniture." My eyes widened. Was this serious? A part of me wanted to click away, but another part—one I didn’t quite understand—kept reading.

“This includes sitting on your stomach, chest, and predominantly your face, depending on what's most comfortable for me at any given moment.”

I swallowed. She wasn’t sugarcoating anything. This wasn’t hidden under layers of euphemism. She meant what she said. And oddly… it made it more tempting.

"You must remain completely still and silent. If you move, speak, or interrupt me in any way, you will be penalized. If you request a break, expect to pay a fee—$10 for every 30 seconds I have to lift myself off you. This is about my comfort, not yours. During the movie, I will be ignoring you entirely.

"If this appeals to you—and you’re serious about your role—send me your age, height, weight, and any experience serving as a seat or in similar scenarios. Beginners are welcome. In fact, I find inexperienced cushions especially interesting.

"This is a chance to be useful, still, and silent for someone else’s comfort. If that excites you, apply.”

I wondered whether the traits she was looking for actually applied to me—was I really obedient enough, quiet enough, still enough to be someone's seat? And did I want to be useful, still, and silent for someone else's comfort? I honestly wasn’t sure. But something in me—something I didn’t quite understand—pushed me to take this seriously. I kept reading.

My heart started racing, a strange mix of anxiety and intrigue filling my mind. I hesitated at first, overwhelmed by embarrassment and curiosity. It wasn't your typical meetup if you wanted to be more sociable, but it was just that intriguing. I finally sent her my details, honestly admitting I had no experience with anything remotely similar.

Olivia replied promptly, giving me minimal details and setting the date. By Saturday evening, my anxiety was overwhelming. My mind raced with doubts as I approached her apartment, questioning if I had made a terrible mistake. A small part of me even wondered if I was being scammed—if she’d open the door at all, or if this had all been some weird joke. But curiosity kept me walking forward.

Olivia opened the door, giving me a brief nod. My breath caught slightly; she was far more attractive than I'd expected. Olivia wore sleek black leggings paired with a snug, tight-fitting top that highlighted her slender frame. Her long, dark brown hair was loosely tied into a casual, messy bun, leaving several strands gently framing her beautiful face. Her expressive deep-brown eyes were warm and inviting, and her naturally radiant complexion enhanced her effortlessly stylish yet comfortable appearance.

I felt oddly excited and nervous at the same time. I had expected someone more eccentric—someone who matched the strange request. But Olivia was strikingly beautiful. As my gaze drifted to her legs and perfectly shaped butt, a shiver of anticipation mixed with apprehension ran through me, knowing she'd soon be sitting on me.

Without any introduction or small talk, she briefly explained, "You'll lie still beneath me, and I'll sit on you exactly as I would on a normal couch. This means you must act like a real seat cushion—no moving, no noise, no discomfort shown. Absolute stillness and silence are required. No breaks." She paused briefly before adding, "Tonight, I'll be watching a relaxed, cozy movie—Serendipity."

Quickly, I pulled out my phone and secretly googled the movie’s runtime. It was an hour and thirty-one minutes long. How was I supposed to endure that? I considered backing out—but didn’t.

"Lie down," she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

Feeling the weight of the moment, I complied and lay down on the couch. Olivia positioned herself and slowly sat on my chest. Her weight settled in gradually, grounding me in a strange new reality. The pressure against my ribs made it harder to breathe, but not impossible. I focused on staying still.

After a few minutes, she leaned back slightly. The shift made it harder to take full breaths. I stared at the ceiling, reminding myself this was what I agreed to.

"Hold on," she said. Her hands found my face, tilting my chin up with gentle but deliberate movements. She lined me up exactly how she wanted.

Then, without pause, she moved forward and sat on my face.

Everything changed. My vision vanished behind the darkness of her leggings. Her warmth covered me entirely, and the pressure was all-encompassing. It was difficult to breathe, and I had to rely on the faint space between her body and my nose.

She adjusted often, subtly shifting her position—sometimes leaning forward, sometimes back. Each movement changed the way I experienced her weight: her pressure would relocate from my nose to my chin, or from my cheekbone to the bridge of my nose. Every shift reintroduced discomfort in a new way. And every breath was full of her scent.

About halfway through, she reached for snacks. I felt her shift slightly to grab them and then sink right back down.

“Want some?” she teased, pressing herself down more firmly onto my mouth. She giggled softly. I couldn’t respond. I just stayed still, taking shallow breaths.

Eventually, I mumbled, “Can I have a break?”

Olivia didn’t move. “Remember, breaks cost extra. Ten dollars for thirty seconds.”

I didn’t ask again. I tried to stay quiet, tried to accept everything—but my body betrayed me. I shifted.

“Shhh,” she said, the word slipping out like breath. “Be a good cushion.”

Then, more softly, “I know it's probably uncomfortable. But it can't be that hard. Not that I'd know. I'm always the sitter, never the seat.” She gave a soft, almost amused exhale. “And it's never painful for me. So how different could it really be?”

There was no cruelty in her tone, but it wasn’t gentle either—it was matter-of-fact, wrapped in a quiet smugness.

As I gasped beneath her, she lifted herself slightly. Air rushed in. My nose pressed into her leggings, catching her scent more vividly than before.

“Take a sniff,” she said lightly. “Enjoy it while you can.”

I wanted to wipe my face, rub my eyes—but she didn’t lift high enough. After a few seconds, she sat back down.

Eventually I turned my head instinctively, needing air.

“Uh uh,” she scolded. She adjusted me and dropped down again, harder this time.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” She paused. “Why’d you even sign up if you weren’t going to be a good cushion?”

I stayed silent.

The rest of the movie passed in a blur of struggle and submission. I lost track of time and myself beneath her.

When the credits rolled, she finally rose. I gasped—grateful for air, light, movement. Everything.

“How was it?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

I hesitated. “It was… intense. Honestly, I don’t know how I made it through.”

She smiled. “Exactly how I like it. Your world becomes mine for a little while—scent, heat, pressure. I enjoy knowing someone’s there, holding still, suffering just a bit. All for my comfort.”

Still catching my breath, I asked, “Do you… do this often?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Some seats are regulars. But I like new ones. The unsure ones. The ones figuring out if they can take it.”

She stood up. “I might invite you back.”

A pause.

“Obviously, only I’ll be watching the movie.”

There was no more to say. She gestured toward the door.

I gathered myself—face flushed, mind spinning—and left.

Outside, the cool night hit my skin. The pressure was gone, but the experience clung to me. I still felt her on me, the shape of her weight lingering on my skin. As soon as I stepped outside, I took out my phone and opened the front camera. My reflection startled me—my face was somehow red and pale at the same time, like it couldn’t decide how to process what had just happened. I leaned closer. I swear I could still smell her. Not just around me, but on me—like her scent had imprinted itself on my skin.

I still wasn’t sure why I did it. Or if I’d do it again.

But part of me was already wondering what she’d watch next.