The Brass Bordello Bed

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Sexual encounters with an old spirit.
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Chapter One: The Bed

The Bed waited.

It stood in a shaft of pale, dusty sunlight far off in one corner of the cavernous antiques warehouse. It was solid brass, and looked very old. Ornate, complex lattice-work curlicues of curved rods and bars filled the spaces between the uprights in both headboard and footboard. The mattress was bare, no sheet: it looked old, too, but serviceable.

The Bed seemed to be waiting, biding its time. It gave off an aura of knowing something private, amusing, important. Its subtly sensuous brasswork beckoned in a strange way. Many had responded to that aura in the past: more would surely do so in the future.

The Bed could afford to be patient, for brass ages ever so slowly.

Laura and her parents wandered into the store: her folks had just bought a "new" home, a spectacular, secluded 120-yr old house. As a moving and birthday present Laura had been told that she could pick out her own furniture and decorate the room to her own taste.

Laura was always occupied with dreams, day and night... fantasies washed over her so thoroughly that sometimes her folks wondered if she'd ever really get connected, permanently, to the real world. Long ago, Laura had discovered that the most exciting fantasies involved some of her most interesting body-parts... and she'd been using the parts and fantasies together for years, daily, intensely. She was very, very good at fantasizing... her own special private world full of wonderful sensations and relationships.

"Someday", she occasionally thought to herself, "I'll be able to write these things down and, just maybe, share them with the world. Someday. Maybe. Hopefully!"

While her parents talked to a clerk about the store's layout, stock-on-hand and prices, Laura spied The Bed, sitting so calmly and distantly in its little sunlit corner, apparently waiting. She was intrigued: the brass glittered and quietly invited a closer inspection.

She silently left her busy parents and strode over to stand next to The Bed, examining him. In her mind, she had named instantly. She capitalized the words -'the bed' morphed into 'Mister Bed'. Then she greeted HIM - no longer a mere "it", and most undoubtedly MALE, exactly why she did not know. Certainly giving Him a proper name seemed appropriate: "Hello, Mr. Bed!" - she actually felt compelled to say it out loud.

Mr. Bed said nothing in reply, stood silent. Her hand stroked gently over the old mattress and up along the brass curlicues. Their shape seemed oddly different to the touch than to the eye; they filled her hand perfectly no matter where she placed it, the touch was warm (how could a piece of brass be warm to her touch in this cold, drafty warehouse, she wondered?).

Heavy, comforting, reliable, sensuous. Experienced. Knowing. There were worn places here and there on the brass, as if subjected to years of gentle rubbings from...? From what? Perhaps hands or feet? Curious.

Chapter Two: First Contact

Laura sat down on Mr. Bed, her shorts riding up as she did so, the cheeks of her butt peeking out and rubbing against the slightly rough fabric of the mattress. The mattress was solid, and oldish-used-bumpy to the touch, but then over a few seconds it seemed to relax and cuddle her bottom just exactly right... as if Mr. Bed already knew her in some intimate way.

The warmth of the mattress against the backs of her legs was a little startling... just like the brass itself... she wondered again where the heat came from. The sunlight streaming through a skylight certainly lit up Mr. Bed nicely, but didn't seem likely to be able to warm it so.

She shrugged and stretched out on her back. Again, after a moment's hesitation, the mattress seemed to almost mold itself ever so intimately to her body. She sighed: this was very, very comfortable. She quickly decided that this would be the first item for her room. Mr. Bed and Laura - a pair.

Mom and Dad were far away, across the vast room, out of sight behind a clutter of tall armoires and other major furniture. For the moment she was alone with Mr. Bed. She lay there and studied the shaft of sunlight coming through the dirty skylight. She thought, for about the third time, how warm the bed was! She looked about, stretched out her arms above her head to run her fingertips over the brass. Her hands went through the intricate latticework: the heavy metal curlicues cradled her wrists firmly, gently, very comfortingly. The brass felt, almost, as if it were clinging ever so slightly to her skin, as if it were adjusting itself to her own curves and lines.

Laura tilted her head far back and looked upside down at the headboard: had it changed somehow? She couldn't be sure, but surely not... after all, how could it possibly do so?

Laura rested her hands in the brass twistings and windings, closed her eyes and thought how Mr. Bed might look in her new room: nice. For a second she drifted, eyes closed and thinking nothing in particular, when the heat of the bed and the down-welling sunlight seemed to gather themselves slowly together, as if they were, collectively, a living thing. It then flowed upwards across her legs and midriff. She felt her crotch go suddenly liquid, as if she'd been playing her own special private games. Her nipple sprang to attention under her blouse, and almost sizzled... she could feel every thread in the fabric touching each nipple!

For a breathless second the heat flowed up across the vee between her legs: she was absolutely dripping wet down there in her favorite place.

The commingled light and warmth hovered airborne above her abdomen... she could see it and even FEEL it through her closed eyelids! It had not merely presence, but personality. Amazing - and wonderful, not the least bit scary. Something deep within her wanted and needed this thing that was gathering above her... she didn't understand what it was or why it was there, but she knew instinctively that she really, really wanted it for herself!

It formed up into a ball with fuzzy edges, hovered briefly, pulsating brightly, then abruptly squirted itself down into her belly like icing through a cake decorator funnel. She took in a short, sharp breath as she felt it settle inside her - it expanded like a sunrise blossoming, swelling into the most intense and most abrupt orgasm of her life. A bit of her brain thought the Presence felt the way those glass-globe sculptures look, filled with buzzing, flashing electricity.

She gasped, bucked her hips up into the air, arched her neck and head backwards as her legs from mid-thigh to toes cramped powerfully, her whole soul throbbing with the intensity.

Spots and dots and flashes swirled behind her eyelids in gorgeous technicolor, but her eyes remained firmly closed. Her body arched up off the mattress, hung suspended between head and heels. Her hands seemed trapped in the headboard... and then the climax faded, she dropped back onto Mr. Bed, and the world resumed turning.

Slowly, slowly, Mr. Bed seemed to relax his grip on her wrists... and she wondered through her purple haze just exactly why she thought the rigid old brass had tightened down on her... how could that happen? She must have twisted herself into the curls in some odd way, gotten herself caught. But now she was back in control. Sort of.

Ye Gods! - but she could dream some interesting dreams... especially when they had to do with climaxes and touchings... how very, very nice! That small, active piece of her brain found time to wonder whether the proper form was "his grip" or "its grip" - and to ponder without resolution just why was she so certain this bed was male. Mister Bed for sure, not Ms, Miss, or Mrs! Nutty, she told herself - who had ever heard of a bed having a gender, except in those idiotic Romance languages, where even stones had gender?

Laura heard her parents' voices: they were moving, getting louder, getting closer. She sat up, took a deep breath and composed herself. She'd had to do this often... whenever they nearly caught her playing with herself... she had become good at covering, instantly, her arousal and its consequences. But still her pussy lips rubbed slippery against one another, within her nylon panties. She hoped she wouldn't be so wet it would show on her shorts! Legs over the side, lean forward so those erect little nipples wouldn't show against her thin blouse - and just in time too, for here came her parents, around the line of big armoires.

Chapter Three: The Purchase

Laura, still a little dazed and with her crotch a-tingle, was the first to speak, declaring that she wanted this bed as the main piece for her room. Mom and Dad were nonplused: they had expected her to be her usual difficult self and to have to shop for a long time. They told her there were plenty of other nice things in the store: wouldn't she like to see them first?

Laura replied "No, not really... I LIKE this bed, I really like it. A lot. It just feels right, and it's beautiful." She bit her lip. "Is it too expensive?"

Her folks looked at her, at one another, and down at the bed. Mr. Bed stood silent, worn, heavy, glistening. Laura sensed the waiting in its posture, then thought "POSTURE? How totally nutso!" She laid one hand on the headboard's top rail - it was startlingly warm to her touch. Weird.

Dad flipped the tag over, guffawed, read it out loud "Genuine New Orleans Bordello Bed, brass, circa 1870, maker unknown. Possibly original mattress is non-standard size. $1200."

Mom giggled and glanced at Dad, patted the mattress and sighed: "You really do have expensive tastes..." Mom's expression told Laura she wasn't going to get the bed: she thought quickly and announced "Well, ANY old bed is hundreds of dollars, isn't it? And this isn't just ANY old bed! I like it. How about if we don't buy me anything else now for the bedroom and I just use my old dresser and stuff? Please?!"

Mom and Dad contemplated Mr. Bed. "It'll need a new mattress" said Mom, finally, doubtfully. Dad nodded agreement: "And a custom-made one, at that. Not cheap, Daughter!"

Laura replied "No it doesn't need a new ANYTHING! I've been lying down on it and it's really comfortable! All it needs is good sheets and a pillow, and I already have those!"

Mom and Dad looked at one another, Mom finally nodded ever so slightly, then Dad turned to the clerk and said "Give you a thousand even for the bed?"

The clerk rummaged through his notebook for a few seconds, then harrumphed and agreed.

Laura stood up and grinned, turned to The Bed, and said "Mr. Bed, I'd like you to meet my parents. You should thank them. Mom and Dad, meet Mr. Bed!"

Mom sighed, hugged Laura to her, and whispered "You are HOPELESS! You and your fantastic imagination... but I'll play along: 'Hello, Mr... er, Mr. Bed, nice to meet you. You'd better take good care of our girl!'" Then to Laura, "Happy new room and happy birthday!"

Chapter Four: First Night

Mr. Bed was delivered that afternoon: the deliverymen assembled him in Laura's bedroom and left him there, alone for the moment. Laura's room was on the far side of the house from everything else, and quite isolated - it had been built decades ago as an expansion. She had her own bathroom, and there was even another little guest room on the other side of the bath... but the only furniture in the guest-room was an old fold-a-bed. Her parents weren't planning on having guests immediately.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bed sat there, waiting, exuding an aura of expectation.

Laura walked in and looked about her: there stood Mr Bed, as promised. He fit the room absolutely perfectly, and seemed already quite at home. She grinned at him, and his curlicues seemed to grin back ever so slightly. Mr. Bed looked very different here in her room, with the windows beside him and sunlight filtering through the trees onto him. Not at all the same Mr. Bed as she'd spasmed on at Jerry's Antiques so recently! How odd that all seemed now.

Laura sat solidly on Mr. Bed, and wriggled. The warmth she'd felt earlier, with all its attendant niftinesses, wasn't there this time. The mattress seemed distinctly old and somewhat lumpy. Oh well: she'd have plenty of adventures in her own mind, with her own body, she knew... and they would mostly happen right here on Mr. Bed. Maybe even (especially!) tonight... who knew?

Late that evening, she said goodnight to her folks and headed for her new bedroom. First, she'd showered, enjoying the new removable pulsating shower head immensely. It hadn't taken her thirty seconds to discover exactly what that was really designed for! God, how she loved playing with herself, and how intense some of her fantasies could be! She greedily sucked up the sensations provided by the pulsing water, spreading her legs wide and leaning back against the wall, feeling her deep-seated shudders move her soapy, slippery butt against the cool tiles.

Finally she came back down, turned off the water, and began to dry herself. Even the drying touch of the towel across her nipplets and underarms and belly turned her on and made her crotch juices flow again: she just never could get enough of these sensations.

Then, with her hair dried and feeling slightly drowsy, she decided that this was a very special occasion - her and Mr Bed's first night together. She should dress up - or, better yet, dress DOWN for the event. She put on her shortest, most nearly transparent nightie and stepped into the dark bedroom.

The only light was moonlight filtering first through the trees outside and then through the gauzy lace curtains, making complex, moving white-on-black patterns on the walls. It was so warm out that all the windows were open, and a tiny breeze stirred the curtains.

In the partial shadows stood Mr. Bed, expectant. His curls and glitters were inviting: she thought back over the day, especially their time together, and giggled to herself.

Slowly, sensually, Laura raised the hem of the gown up over her head until the cloth pulled free: she let the gown drop gently onto the floor beside her.

Deep into the moment, naked in the flickering moonlight, she stepped forward, laid her hand on Mr. Bed's footboard, and whispered "SO!? Do you like me? Am I pretty enough for you? Do you think we'll be able to get along well together?"

She giggled again, then pirouetted in the dancing light, posturing and posing as if she were in her ballet class, only nude.

Mr. Bed flickered back. She took that as a 'yes'.

Moonlight glistened off the tiny hairs of her belly and thighs as she turned, and down the curve of her back and buttocks where she couldn't see or even imagine them. Her nipples erected to the touch of the warm night air, momentarily casting long shadows as she turned. Her pubis and the cleft of her crotch caught the light just so, clit peeking out shyly from its enclosing gentle folds, then disappearing into the dark again.

She moved alongside Mr. Bed and swung herself up onto him, lying on her back, stretching and rolling like a cat. As before, Mr. Bed seemed to relax and cradle her entire body, the initial lumpiness melting away beneath her.

She sighed and snuggled against his mattress, stretched her arms over her head like she had back there in the store, and fondled the headboard's curls. Once again, they were warm, and seemed to mold themselves to her shape. She held them tight as she spread her legs wide apart, draping her ankles over the sides of the mattress, exposing herself to the breeze.

Eyes closed, she prepared to play some of her favorite self-pleasuring games. Before she could start, she felt the wind pick up and begin exploring her body. Across the under-arch of her foot, between her toes, ever so gently up the insides of her calves and thighs, then delicately across the complicated wetnesses and partings of her crotch, her clit instantly springing up hard like a new-born button mushroom, panting for more attention. Preferably firm.

So delicate the wind's touch, just barely discernible, tension-raising. A touching so much more perfect than ever she could do for herself. Tickling, rubbing, dabbing at her, up across her belly and along her sides, over her nipples, feeling like the finest of silk or nylon gliding over them, making her whole body shiver. The wind caressed her armpits - they were suddenly sensitive amazingly. Goosebumps rose all over her body.

The wind flowed around and inside her ears, over her lips: her mouth opened slightly, then it was against her teeth and tongue, rustling her hair, caressing her outstretched arms. She really, REALLY liked this: her eyes remained gently closed and she let herself relax and wallow in the mysterious lusciousness of it all.

Laura could feel that she was astoundingly wet: she was seriously aching for a firmer touch down there below her belly, and she tried to shift her hands now, to satisfy her needs.

Somehow, though, her hands had become firmly entangled in Mr. Bed's brass curls. It wasn't easy to get loose, but finally one hand came free. As it did, the breeze stopped. Completely. All the wonderful tingles faded away, leaving only a void... but her pussy was still wet! Unfair!

She reached to touch herself, sliding an experienced finger down her slit. It felt good, but not quite right. Almost angry, she decided to let the wind work on her again... it had been delightful... why had it taken itself away from her!? She stretched back over her head and took hold of Mr. Bed's brass again, and waited.

Seconds passed. Then, wind appeared as if by magic. More than wind... more like kitten lickings, steadily up the inside of her thigh, onto the swollen edges of her outer lips, rough/silky and dancing tantalizingly close to her clit, but not quite there. She was excruciatingly sensitive and wriggled in frustration, muttering to herself "Please, please, please!"

Then, she felt what for all the world seemed to be a living wetness sucking and caressing her perfectly smooth pubic mound... but with a tiny hard edge to it, almost as if the wetness were a mouth, a complete mouth with tongue and surrounding teeth. The wetness left a trail of heat up her ribcage, and paused deliciously at her nipple. Laura quivered when the hard edges seemed to take command, pinching exactly right. Her eyes opened just a slit, and all the touchings and sensations stopped, leaving her erect nipple glistening wetly (HOW in the WORLD?) and aching for more attention.

She realized now what the rules were: no open eyes! She thought to herself that this was a wonderfully complicated dream she'd invented. Or thought she'd invented: she couldn't be quite sure any more. Her eyes closed, and her nipple came alive at once: she pressed her chest hard upwards against the sensations, and almost whined when the giver of pleasure moved away... only to gasp out loud when the phantom (surely it was imaginary?!) teeth-lips-tongue spent the next several seconds licking and nibbling their way across her armpit. It wasn't tickling at all... it felt far, far too good for that!

Her gentle attempts to tug her arms free of the headboard so that she could fondle her throbbing crotch simply failed, and she relaxed into Mr Bed's firm, controlling grasp. 'Well...' she thought to herself, realizing as she did so that she was accepting Mr Bed as a sentient entity! '...if Mr Bed is actually controlling all of this, he certainly KNOWS what he's doing - therefore DO NOT MESS WITH THE PROCESS!'

Now the wet-and-warm - whatever it was- disappeared entirely. Long, suspenseful, aching empty seconds later, it reappeared with a gentle vengeance, directly on her clit, and her juice-making machinery nearly spurted in response.

Long, solid lappings spread apart her pussy's outer lips, then pressed farther and did the same with the inners. Now something seemed to be urging her legs to rise, folding at the knees, scissoring open like a book as the mouth-feelings drove warmly deep inside her open, throbbing belly. Only her fingers and a couple of strange foreign bodies had ever been inside her that way: she quivered hard and loved the sensations.

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