Virgin Bedpost

A virgin takes masturbation to a whole new level.

Home alone one evening, having just finished reading one of my mother's naughty novels, I stood naked and aroused in front of my bedroom mirror, examining my five-four, full figure. I was physically ready for sex, but emotionally I wasn't. I didn't have a boyfriend, and I was embarrassingly still a virgin at eighteen.

To declare interest in the guys I liked would mean competing against prettier and more confident girls. Girls who were already sexually active, and in some cases, unashamedly so. I overheard their conversations in the girls' toilets about blowjobs in the backs of cars and cinemas, and sex in bedrooms at parties.

The guys who showed an interest in me were just like me. Shy, boring, and virgins. I thought life was unfair, yet I was doing to those guys what every hot guy was doing to me, judging a book by its cover. I knew getting laid at my age was easy. All I had to do was say yes to the next guy who tried it on. But I was never going to do it that way.

So, there I stood, naked before my bedroom mirror, having overindulged on my mother's erotic fiction, and setting myself unrealistic standards for my first time. There must be someone out there for me, I thought hopefully, believing I was the only girl to graduate high school as a virgin. And now I faced going to university as one, because I lacked self-confidence.

My long, straight, light-brown hair with natural golden-highlighted tones was nice. But I didn't like my soft oval face with full cheeks and slightly rounded jawline very much. My skin was fair with a warm undertone. Full lips, well-defined, light eyebrows, and large expressive hazel eyes that a guy once said were bedroom eyes.

Yet, his focus was on my curvy figure as he eyed me like a potential addition to his body count. I was used to it. I carried my weight evenly, especially in my bust, hips, and thighs. I had a typical pear-hourglass shape that leaned towards pear. My waist was defined and cinched naturally, which accentuated the curves above and below.

In essence, I had a soft, feminine figure. I was neither skinny nor plus-size. I was comfortably in the thick to curvy category. Guys wanted to screw me as a one-night stand but not have me as their girlfriend. So, I longed for a sexy hero from my mother's erotic books to kick my door down and finally turn me into a woman.

Knowing that was never going to happen, I gently cupped my heavy breasts and ran my hands over the smooth skin, feeling the tautness of my nipples with my palms. I caressed my bust the way I imagined a man would do it, not a boy trying to grope me in the back of his car or in a cinema, and felt my whole-body quiver and tingle.

Smirking, I watched my hands in the mirror slide down my body. Reaching my shaven pubic mound, something I only did because all the girls said that's how they kept theirs, I spread my feet and felt how wet I was, sighing when I found I was actually soaking, sticky and sensitive. The book made me hornier than I realised.

My folds were slick and swollen, and the muscles inside my virgin cavity contracted with anticipation, hoping a man would come and fill it with his erection. A big thick one like in the books I had been reading of late. Breathing slightly heavier, I pressed a finger to my clit and began to move it in slow circles.

"You need sex, Alice," I sighed at my wanton reflection. "Real sex, and soon."

As I moved my aching clit around, my legs began to tremble, and I cupped a breast with my other hand, creating a harmonious rhythm that flowed through me like a river of sin. I wasn't religious, but giving in to my body's cravings always felt wrong somehow. I knew it was my shyness, so I played with my hard nipples.

I stayed like that, watching myself in the mirror, masturbating and kneading my breasts, soothing that never ending nagging feeling that seemed to always be present between my thighs. Mornings, evenings, showers, and especially reading erotic fiction, I couldn't stop thinking about sex and touching myself.

I sat down on the end of my bed, still facing the mirror, and spread my legs wide for an even better view. I had always enjoyed looking at my vulva as much as I enjoyed playing with her. She was invitingly soft and pretty, with or without pubic hair, and I wondered what guys really preferred between a woman's legs.

As I slipped an eager finger inside my body, right up to the knuckle, I released a deep groan and began to thrust. There really is no better feeling than having something sliding in and out of my tingling wetness. The sucking sounds and my moans simply add to the pleasure I get from masturbating in my private space.

I forgot about being Alice the curvy, shy girl from next door, and imagined myself being one of the characters in my mother's erotic books. I was the dominant female lead submitting to the stable boy, the damsel in distress trying to escape her tyrant husband. No. I was the local harlot who dropped her drawers for rich men.

My mind raced erratically as I fingered my hairless sex, building the pace and force in which I moved my hand, almost punching my mound with an upside-down fist. But it wasn't enough. The ache got sharper and meaner. I needed more pressure, more something. That's when my lusty gaze fixed on a solid bedpost.

Too scared to order a dildo online in case my parents found it, too embarrassed to walk into a sex shop and buy one in person for many reasons, I'd looked at the bedpost before, curious but never brave enough. I was yet to even use a hairbrush handle, but something was telling me the bedpost was the answer to my sex woes.

I straddled the corner of my bed, still facing the mirror as I stood on pillows for that little bit of extra height, my fragile vulva hovering precariously above the narrow, wooden bedpost finial. The pointed top sloped down to the widest point, which was adorned by a ring and then completed with a ringed base.

It was around five inches tall and about one and half inches wide. I felt so vulnerable. My legs shook with fear that it might hurt, and excitement because it was so daring and dirty. But the moment the hard, smooth wood pressed against my clit, I let out the longest of whimpers and my hips began to move instinctively.

I watched my reflection grinding slow little circles, then longer drags, until the point of the finial was drenched in my virginal juices. It felt so good, I had to bite the back of my hand to stay quiet, despite being home alone. I was terrified, exhilarated, and lost in it all at once as I glided my slit across the point, spreading my slick folds.

"You can do this, Alice," I breathed, using every muscle in my legs to steady myself.

I cupped and held my breasts, feeling their weight as I positioned my opening directly on the point. The sensation made me gasp so loud, I bit my lip hard this time and squeezed my breasts tighter together. I couldn't stop now. I told myself to take it nice and slow, and began to squat a few millimetres, gently taking the object in.

The slope made the entry that little bit easier as I breathed deeply and went for penetration. I promised myself to only go as deep as it felt good, so I focussed on taking just the tip first. The width was perfect. It didn't stretch too much or too little. It was scary and amazing to have something so hard entering my virgin sex.

Once comfortable, I rocked my hips back and forth in circles, very slowly and carefully, using the adorned ring for added sensation. Keeping one hand on the bed frame for stability, I ran my other hand through my long brown hair and moaned. I was in no rush to finish. I was more than happy to be riding one of my bedposts.

The more shocked I was at watching the first three inches disappearing and then re-emerging, slick with my arousal, the more exciting and wet I became. Working my thighs hard, I closed my eyes and imagined I had a man inside me, his cock claiming my virginity. I gasped at the thought and cupped a breast, squeezing.

Memories of the first time I accidentally saw a penis, my friend's dad getting out of the shower at a sleepover, fixed in my mind. The experience was traumatic for both of us, but later that night, I rubbed my clit in bed while my friend slept, imagining holding her dad's cock. I will never forget how it twitched at me while I stared at it.

Then I thought about my neighbour, Malcolm. Too old for a girl like me but too young to be widowed at forty-nine. He lived alone next door, but I saw the way he looked at me every time we stopped to say hello. I didn't fully understand it, but there was always a glint in his eyes that caused my nipples to harden inside my bras.

I needed to stop being fussy and get on with experiencing sex. The intensity between my legs had built so much, I was experimenting with speeds and angles before I realised what I was doing. My body had tilted forward, creating more pressure on my g-spot area. That was the sensation I had been craving, I learned.

I felt myself sink down lower, taking all five inches of the hard wood, grinding more then riding as I focussed on that sweet spot. No clitoral stimulation needed. I simply held my breasts together and fucked that post as if it were a real cock. Ignoring the burning in my thighs, I chased the electric feeling in the pit of my belly.

I was unable to stop myself, now I was impaled on its power. When my orgasm finally hit, the explosion inside was huge. My whole body locked up, thighs clamped around the bedpost, back arched so hard it hurt. Broken cries of ecstasy filled my bedroom as I came in long, rolling waves that left me dizzy and gasping in shock.

It was like an earthquake had just shaken the house. I stayed on the bedpost, panting as I clung to the bed frame, feeling the tremors ripple through me until the pleasure sadly subsided. I had to move. My legs couldn't hold me for much longer. I was ruined, wrecked, but satisfied. I knew right then that masturbation was never going to be the same again, but fucking my bedpost was not a safe option.

After cleaning my naughty little friend with wipes, I took a shower and climbed into bed, wearing pyjama shorts and a t-shirt set. I searched for sex toys online until I found a lifelike realistic, six-inch dildo. It had a strong upward curve, a big head, and a suction cap. Perfect for the shower, so I decided to be brave and ordered it.

It was a great summer, experimenting with the sex toy, but I couldn't go to university as a virgin. The week before I left home to study a degree, Malcolm was round for a few days, decorating my parents' bedroom and fitting new wardrobes. It was fate. I found the courage to flirt with him and arrived at university as a woman.