The Hidden House of Human Furniture

This is my first full-scale attempt at forniphilia, or the art of turning people into objects. This one is a bit dark (but I personally like grim stories), so proceed with caution. Other then that, enjoy!

The hidden house of human furniture
By Darkraptor1

There is a house, not far out of town, where no one goes who wishes to return.

This lonely house, according to local myth, is the place of many things. It is a place of mysterious spies. A place of meeting for a secret society that wishes to take over the world.

Perhaps it was the house of a famous person who wished not to be disturbed.

Perhaps it was just the residence of an intently shy person.

A curious passer-by would not gain much from looking at the house. It was a double storied house, built in old Victorian fashion. The windows and blinds were always closed, the doors and gates always locked.

Whoever lived there clearly did not want to be disturbed.

But the mail was always collected, the bills and taxes paid on time and promptly, so no government officials could go inside the house.

Exactly as the house’s owner had planned.

For this particular house was in fact, a secret meeting place, as well as the residency of an intently shy person, who did want her career to be exposed to the outside world.

For she was a specialist in the field of forniphilia, the art of converting living, breathing human beings into nothing more then living, breathing, pieces of furniture.

The residents at this house called her “Mistress.” Her real name was not known to anyone but herself. Any attempts to find out her real name was dealt with harshly and severely.

The occupants of her house were numerous. There were five servants, who obeyed their masters every will. They were her servants, and her thugs. For the other residents of the house were slaves.

Mistress often sent her servants on errands, to kidnap ordinary people, as well as runaways, the homeless, and the forgotten. These people were kidnapped, and forced into a lifetime of slavery and bondage to a cruel and unmerciful master.

Aaron was one of those slaves. He had been laid off his job a month ago. He had scavenged to make a living, living beneath bridges and in bushes. He had been taken less then a week ago.

The thugs had ganged up on him, tackling him with their bodies, pinning him beneath their weight. They had forced a gag into his mouth while tying his wrists and ankles together. He had been thrown into a truck, which had driven off into the night.

The next five days had been torture. He had been “educated” into the art of being a slave. Learning to obey any order without question. Learning that with defiance came torture and pain. Learning that any attempts to escape brought a lifetime of misery.

In the end, he was ordered to wear a black catsuit at all times. In addition, he was forced to wear a pair of handcuffs and ankle irons, which were to be kept on him for life, even during sleep and showers. A gag was to kept in his mouth at all times, except during meals.

He had been given the task of cleaning the furniture around the house. He was forced to go throughout the house, clumsily brushing down the furniture with a duster held in his shackled hands.

What scared him was that almost all of the furniture was really living human beings, strapped, tied, and locked into positions where they became tables, candleholders, chandeliers, chairs, and even beds.

Their eyes had looked at him while he dusted and cleaned them. The eyes spoke of silent misery and agony, of being locked into unnatural positions for hours on end, for days, for weeks, even months.

Some, he had been told, had been there for years.

The escape attempt had been planned early. Aaron had decided that death was preferable to a lifetime of slavery.

He had consulted with four other slaves, who had been assigned various duties of cleaning, cooking, and housekeeping. They had all agreed to try and escape through the basement, through a small window that one of them had found.

During the night of the escape attempt, everything went well at first. They had slipped into the basement, avoiding the gazes of the furniture left behind.

They had reached the window and were almost through getting it opened when the mistresses servants found them.

The slaves had fought back, but were easily subdued. Extra restraints were placed on all five slaves, and they were lead upstairs.

If there was one thing the mistress liked more then anything else, it was sentencing various slaves to terms as furniture.

She started with the lighter punishments.

The cook, clad in a blue catsuit and wearing an armbinder, was sentenced to one month as a cabinet. He would be the cabinet, holding the drinks and food supplies that were to be placed inside.

As the other slaves had watched, the servants took out an old cabinet and sawed away the shelves inside.

Taking the cook, they forced him into the cabinet, where they locked into a series of stocks that fit around his feet, ankles, waist, arms, and neck. Those stocks were then nailed into the cabinet shell.

When it was finished, the cabinet was placed up against a wall, and various food supplies were placed on the stocks, which now doubled as shelves.

The cabinet stood a good chance of surviving its punishment. It was still fairly strong and well built.

One of Mistress’s habits was to simply abandon most of her furniture, letting her servants feed them when they wished (which was not often). Only her most prized pieces of furniture were fed and toileted regularly.

As the cabinet watched on, Mistress moved on to the next punishment.

The vacuum-cleaner slave was next. She was a target Mistress had focused on for months, eager for a chance to punish her, for being too slow with vacuuming.

The vacuum slave was sentenced to one month as a table, where she would hold the food placed on her as the residents of the house were seated for dinner.

The table was brought out. It looked ordinary, except for the fact that the table itself was about fifteen inches thick, and had a hole for the table’s head to stick out of.

The vacuum slave was taken to this table. The top was opened up, and she was forced into it. Cuffs were applied to her wrists and ankles, forcing her to assume a spread-eagle position.

The table was closed, sealing the woman inside. Except, by this point, she was no longer a human as far as the servants and the mistress were concerned.

A blindfold was applied to the table’s eyes, which would stay in place for fifteen days. The table gave out muffled moans and whimpers as it struggled. The table legs (which had formerly been humans) whimpered slightly under the weight.

As the table was left to moan about the coming thirty days, it was now time to move on to the harsher punishments.

Dish cleaning slave was next. She kneeled on the floor, held in place with cuffs behind her back and a choke chain around her neck. Her black catsuit was damp with sweat.

The punishment was announced. Three months as a lamp post. Dish cleaning slave moaned audibly at this sentence. A quick tug on the choke chain ensured her silence.

The lamp post itself was little more then a vertical piece of slightly padded wood.

Dish cleaning slave was taken to this post. The servants forced her to stand onto the board. Built-in steel cuffs were applied the slave, binding her to the post, making her a part of it.

When the ankle, wrist, waist, and throat cuffs were locked firmly in place, black straps were produced and wound around the lamp post, securing both pieces together. A black hood was applied around the lamp post’s head, keeping only the eyes revealed.

Taking the actual lamp itself, Mistresses servants placed it into the board and left it there. The lamp post was moved over to the door, where it would remain for the next three months.

If it survived that long.

With one slave turned into a lamp post, it was down to the last two sentences.

The T.V. tuner slave was next. Her punishment was the most common, but with a term longer then most.

One year as a chair.

T.V. tuner slave moaned in fear upon hearing her fate. She knew that survival was not likely. Maybe… in a way… it would be a relief, an escape from this horrible place.

A chair base was brought into the room. It consisted of a wheel base, with a piece of wood on top.

T.V. tuner was forced onto the floor, where her limbs were squished together and her arms forced to her legs.

Red straps were produced and placed all over T.V. turner slave, ensuring that she was locked firmly into position. When it was finished, her legs were bent back onto her chest, and pointing straight up. Her arms were strapped to her legs.

The bottom of her upper legs formed the seat. The back of her lower legs was the back support.

T.V. turner slave was picked up and placed onto the seat base. More straps were applied, and she was locked to the base.

The chair was gagged. It’s eyes were left open. Rolling it away, the servants took the chair to the computer room, where it would stay for the next year.

Now, only Aaron was left. Mistress smiled to herself. She had a punishment rarely administered in mind for him.

He would pay dearly for his escape attempt.

Mistress took great pride in describing his punishment. He would be turned into a living display piece. A piece that could be shown to other slaves, so that they knew what happened to those who planned and lead escape attempts.

To show him what the other display pieces were, Mistress had Aaron collared with a leash, and he was lead downstairs.

There was a room in the basement of the house, one that was rarely opened, and only then, to show slaves what might await them if they tried to escape.

The door had a small sign on it. A word, cared with gold letters, gave the room its name.

Museum.

Inside the room was a grotesque display of objects, all of which had been humans.

There was a large cement pillar. A human head stuck out of it’s top. The pillar’s head groaned slightly. Two tubes ran out of the pillar to small collection and IV boxes.

There was a small sign at the pillar’s base. It read,

“Slave 103. Punishment: Ten years.”

The date showed that the sign had been created nine years ago.

The next object on display was a statue of a man. It too, was crafted in cement. The form was sitting in a chair. But the statue’s eyes were that of a real human. Two small tubes ran out of the figures arms, towards a waste collection box, and an IV box.

The sign in front of this one read,

“Slave 273. Punishment: Thirty years.”

The man that was now a statue had been there for five years.

Aaron’s fear and dread was building.

The third display was a curious one. It was a large cage. Inside of it, there was a human. It was covered from head to toe with black leather bondage gear. The clothing was so thick that it was impossible to tell the thing’s gender.

The sign in front of the cage read,

“Slave 598. Punishment: Fifty years.”

The human had been there only two weeks.

Aaron was sweating profusely.

The next display… was empty.

It consisted of only a flat steel table. There were numerous black leather straps attached to the table’s sides, ready to be strapped down upon a victim.
Aaron was the victim.

A servant came into the room, ignoring the groans and moans of the other displays.

She placed a sign in front of this table.

It read,

“Slave 994. Punishment:”

“Life”

A heavy blow landed on Aaron’s head, knocking him into unconsciousness.

When Aaron awoke, he was mildly relieved to find that he was out of his catsuit, along with the cuffs and the gag.

However, his situation was now much worse.

He was in a neoprene body bag, tight and body hugging. His arms were inside internal sleeves, making it impossible to use them in any way.

Mistresses servants were finishing his bondage. They zipped up the back of the bag. When the zippers met, a small padlock was placed between them and locked, sealing the zippers shut.

Aaron watched in terror as the only key that could unlock them was calmly placed into a garbage tin.

He was picked up and carried over to the steel table. He was placed upon it.

Aaron squirmed and thrashed within his neoprene prison, but he knew all too well that escape was now impossible. He was locked inside this prison for life.

The straps were taken and applied to Aaron’s immobilized body. Strap after strap was applied to his bag, forcing him against its surface.

Soon, six leather straps were holding Aaron down firmly. Aaron’s screams and pleas for mercy were locked away behind a ball gag that had been inserted into his mouth. In addition to the built in straps, it had been fixed with dental cement, ensuring that it could never come out without ripping Aaron’s teeth out as well.

It was almost time to finish the sentence. Only the neoprene hood remained.

Mistress put on the hood herself. She took it in her hands and slowly pulled it up and over Aaron’s neck, chin, mouth, and eyes. This hood had no eyeholes. The only holes were in the nostril area.

Mistress whispered to Aaron that he should enjoy looking at her, because that was the last thing he would ever see.

Aaron screamed as the eternal darkness took his sight.

The neoprene hood was placed over Aaron’s face and pushed into place. The zipper on the back and pulled down, and it too was locked to the other zippers, ensuring that it would never come off.

A black posture collar was placed around Aaron’s neck, which forced him to keep his head straight. He could still move his head slightly from side to side, but that was all.

It was finished. The IV tube and waste collection tube were turned on. A life-giving liquid was pumped into the display’s body, which would keep it alive.

Mistress whispered to the display that, considering its young age of roughly twenty five years, it should probably live well into its eighties.

The display’s only response was to twitch and squirm within its tight body bag.

Satisfied that the punishment was complete, Mistress ordered the museum display to be tilted at an angle, so that all could see what became of a human named Aaron, who had been turned into a museum display, where it would remain for the rest of it’s life.

And so, dear readers, take this warning to heart.

For the next time you enter this town…

Beware the lonely house.

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17.07.15