My Virgin Sex – Deflowering Sweet Boys

My Virgin Sex Fetish: Taking Their Innocence

I never thought I’d admit this out loud, but I have a virgin sex fetish…Not just a passing curiosity—no, a deep, aching, throbbing obsession with being the one who takes a boy’s virginity, who slides down onto his untouched cock and watches his entire world shatter in the best possible way. It started when I was twenty-one, and it’s only gotten worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it.

His name was Ethan. Nineteen, tall, awkward in that sweet way where his hands were too big for his body and he blushed every time I looked directly at him. We met at a house party. I was wearing a tight black dress that hugged my tits and barely covered my ass, and I caught him staring from across the room like he’d never seen a woman before. He hadn’t. Not really. Not like this.

I walked over, leaned in close enough that my lips brushed his ear, and whispered, “You look like you’ve never been touched.” His whole face went crimson. He stammered something about just breaking up with his high school girlfriend, how they’d only ever kissed. That was all I needed to hear. My pussy clenched instantly. I took his hand and led him upstairs without another word.

We ended up in some guest bedroom with a lock on the door. He stood there frozen while I kissed him—soft at first, then deeper, sliding my tongue into his mouth until he moaned like he was dying. His hands hovered over my waist like he was scared to touch me. I grabbed them and put them on my breasts. “Feel me,” I said. “I’m real. And I want you.”

He was shaking when I pushed him back onto the bed. I climbed on top, straddling his thighs, and ground down slowly so he could feel how wet I already was through his jeans. His cock was rock hard, straining against the denim. I unzipped him slowly, watching his eyes go wide as I pulled him out. Thick, uncut, leaking at the tip. Perfect. Untouched. Virgin.

“Have you ever had a girl touch you here?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around him. He shook his head frantically. I stroked him slow, watching his hips buck, listening to the desperate little sounds he made. “Good,” I purred. “Because I’m going to be your first everything.”

I leaned down and licked the precum off the head. He gasped so loud I thought someone would hear us. I took him deeper, sucking gently, swirling my tongue around the sensitive underside until his hands fisted in my hair and he was babbling, “Please… oh god… I’m gonna…”

I stopped. Pulled off with a wet pop. “Not yet, baby. I want you inside me when you come for the first time.”

I stood up and slipped my dress off. No bra. Just a tiny black thong already soaked through. His eyes were glued to my body like he couldn’t believe this was happening. I peeled the thong down slowly, stepped out of it, and climbed back on top. I rubbed my bare pussy along his cock, coating him in my wetness, teasing the head against my entrance.

“Tell me what you are,” I whispered.
“I’m… I’m a virgin,” he choked out.
“Louder.”
“I’m a virgin and I want you to fuck me.”

Fuck. That did it. I sank down slowly, taking every inch of his virgin cock inside me. He was thick—god, so thick—and the way he stretched me made my eyes roll back. He groaned like he was in pain, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. I stayed still for a second, letting him feel how hot and wet and tight I was around him.

Then I started to move.

Slow at first, rolling my hips, watching his face twist in pure overwhelmed pleasure. His mouth hung open, eyes locked on where we were joined, watching his cock disappear into me over and over. I leaned forward, letting my tits brush his chest, and whispered filthy things in his ear.

“This is what pussy feels like, Ethan. Real pussy. My pussy. And it’s the first one you’ve ever been inside.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered.

I rode him harder, grinding my clit against his pelvis with every thrust. He was trying so hard not to come, I could feel it—the way his hips jerked, the way his cock twitched inside me. I clenched around him on purpose and he cried out.

“Come for me,” I said. “Fill me up. Be a good little virgin and come inside your first pussy.”

That broke him. He came with a broken sob, hips bucking wildly, pumping rope after rope deep inside me. I kept riding through it, milking every drop, until he was shaking and oversensitive and begging me to stop. I didn’t. I came seconds later, grinding down hard, my pussy spasming around his spent cock as I soaked him.

Afterward he just stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, like he couldn’t process what had just happened. I kissed his neck and whispered, “Welcome to sex, baby.”

That was the first. But definitely not the last.

There was Noah, the quiet art student who drew me in charcoal during a life drawing class. He was twenty, still lived at home, and blushed every time I posed nude. I invited him back to my apartment after class. He was so nervous he could barely speak. I made him sit on my couch while I stripped slowly, piece by piece, until I was naked and dripping for him.

I knelt between his legs and sucked him until he was shaking, then climbed into his lap and guided his virgin cock inside me. He lasted maybe thirty seconds the first time—came with this stunned, grateful look on his face—but I kept going, riding him through it until he was hard again. The second time he lasted longer. By the third, he was fucking me back like he’d been born for it.

Then there was Liam, the preacher’s son. Twenty-two and still a virgin because “waiting for marriage.” I met him at a coffee shop and knew immediately. The way he couldn’t stop staring at my legs, the way he stammered when I flirted. I invited him over to “study the Bible.” He showed up in a button-down shirt and khakis like he was going to church.

I answered the door in lingerie.

He froze in the doorway. I pulled him inside, kissed him hard, and felt him melt against me. I undressed him slowly, kissing every inch of skin I revealed. When I finally got his pants off, his cock was so hard it looked painful. I pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he whispered.
“No,” I said, sinking down onto him. “You’re going to heaven.”

He came almost instantly, groaning my name like a prayer. I didn’t stop. I rode him until he was crying—actual tears—because it felt too good, because he couldn’t believe something so sinful could feel so right. When I finally let him come again, he clung to me like I was salvation.

I love the way virgins look at me afterward. Like I’ve ruined them. Like I’ve given them something they’ll never get back and they’re so fucking grateful for it. I love the way they taste—their nervousness, their desperation, the way they come so hard because they’ve never felt anything like it before.

There was Alex, the shy computer science major who’d never even kissed anyone. I took him in the back of my car after a party. He was trembling so hard I had to hold his face and kiss him slow until he relaxed. I sucked him off first—god, the sounds he made—then climbed into his lap in the backseat and took his virginity right there, windows fogged up, music still thumping from the house.

He came inside me twice that night. The second time he was the one moving, fucking up into me like he couldn’t get deep enough. When we finally stopped, he buried his face in my neck and whispered, “Thank you.” Like I’d done him a favor.

I love the power of it. Knowing I’m the first woman to ever feel them inside me. The first to taste them. The first to make them come so hard they see stars. I love watching them go from nervous boys to men who know exactly what they want—because I taught them.

My favorite was probably Julian. Twenty, beautiful, with dark curls and these innocent green eyes. He told me upfront he was a virgin. Said he’d been waiting for someone who made him feel safe. I spent weeks seducing him—slow kisses, soft touches, building the tension until he was begging me.

When it finally happened, it was perfect. I took my time. Kissed every inch of him. Licked him until he was writhing. Then I climbed on top and sank down so slowly he was shaking. I rode him gentle at first, whispering how good he felt, how perfect his virgin cock was inside me. When he came, he cried. Not from pain—from overwhelming pleasure.

Afterward he fell asleep with his head on my chest, and I lay there stroking his hair thinking: this is it. This is what I’m addicted to. The purity. The trust. The way they give themselves to me completely because they’ve never done this before.

Some women want experienced men who know what they’re doing. I want the opposite. I want trembling hands and wide eyes and the moment a boy realizes what sex actually feels like. I want to be the one who corrupts them. Who ruins them for anyone else.

Because once they’ve had me—once they’ve felt my pussy clench around their virgin cock while I ride them into oblivion—they’re never the same.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m nowhere near done. There are still so many sweet, untouched boys out there who don’t know yet how good it feels to finally be inside a woman for the first time. Who don’t know how it feels to come deep inside someone who wants them just as badly.

I’ll find them.
I’ll take them.
And I’ll make damn sure they never forget their first.

Because my virgin sex fetish? It’s not going anywhere.
And neither am I.

I take virgins… and they thank me for it.