Virgin Confession: Finally Giving It Up

I always knew I was different. While my friends were sneaking out to hook up, I stayed pure… obsessed with my own virgin sex fetish.

While my friends were sneaking out to hook up with boys in high school, swapping stories about clumsy fumbling in the back of cars, I stayed locked away in my own little world of fantasies. I wasn’t waiting for marriage or some fairytale prince. No. What kept my thighs clenched together at night was something darker, filthier. I had a secret virgin sex fetish—one where I stayed pure, untouched, while imagining every single detail of what it would feel like to finally give it up. Not to just anyone. To someone who would worship the fact that no man had ever been inside me, who would lose his mind over how tight and wet and completely unused my pussy was.

I’m twenty-two now, and until recently, I was still a virgin. Every guy I’ve dated has tried—fingers creeping up my skirt, mouths begging to taste me—but I always stopped them. Not because I didn’t want it. God, I wanted it so badly I would lie in bed afterward with my hand between my legs, rubbing my clit in frantic circles, whispering to myself how good it would feel when someone finally pushed inside my virgin cunt for the first time. I’d come hard imagining the stretch, the burn, the way I’d cry out when that thick cock finally broke through and claimed me.

People think virgins are innocent little angels who don’t know what they want. They’re wrong about me. I know exactly what I want. I want to be devoured.

It finally happened with Ryan. I met him at a friend’s birthday party. He was older—twenty-eight—tall, broad-shouldered, with those dark eyes that looked like they already knew every dirty secret I was hiding. We talked all night. I wore a short red dress that hugged my body, no bra, nipples hard against the fabric every time his gaze dropped. I could feel how wet I was just from the way he looked at me—like he wanted to bend me over the nearest table and ruin me.

When he asked for my number, I gave it to him. When he texted the next day, I invited him over. I didn’t play games. I knew what I needed.

He showed up with a bottle of wine. We barely drank any. Within minutes we were on my couch, kissing like we were starving. His tongue was in my mouth, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my dress higher. I let him. For the first time, I let a man touch me there—over my panties at first, feeling how soaked they were. He groaned against my lips.

“Jesus, you’re dripping.”

I pulled back just enough to whisper, “Because I’ve never done this before.”

He froze. Pulled back to look at me. “Never?”

I shook my head, cheeks burning. “I’m a virgin. Completely. No one’s ever even fingered me.”

His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. I saw it—the hunger. The exact thing I’d been craving. He kissed me harder, one hand cupping my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers until I was moaning into his mouth. The other hand slipped under my panties, finally touching my bare pussy. I was slick, swollen, aching. He slid one finger along my slit and I jerked, gasping.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered. “You’ve really never…?”

“Never,” I breathed. “I want you to be the first. I need you to be the first.”

That was all it took. He picked me up like I weighed nothing and carried me to my bedroom. Laid me down on the bed and stood there staring like he couldn’t believe I was real. I sat up and pulled my dress over my head. No bra. Just tiny lace panties already soaked through. My tits aren’t huge, but they’re perky, nipples dark pink and hard as pebbles. He groaned and stripped off his shirt, then his jeans. His cock was straining against his boxers—thick, long, a wet spot where he was leaking for me.

I reached for him, nervous but desperate. Pulled his boxers down and wrapped my hand around him. He was hot, heavy, throbbing. I’d never touched a real cock before. I stroked him slowly, watching his face, loving the way his breath hitched.

“You like that?” I whispered. “Knowing you’re the first man I’ve ever touched like this?”

“Fuck, yes,” he growled.

I leaned forward and licked the tip, tasting salt and precum. He cursed under his breath, hands tangling in my hair. I took him deeper, sucking awkwardly at first because I’d never done it, but I learned fast—swirling my tongue, hollowing my cheeks, loving the way he fucked my mouth gently, like he was afraid to hurt me.

But I didn’t want gentle. Not completely.

I pulled off and lay back, spreading my legs wide. “Touch me,” I begged. “Please.”

He knelt between my thighs and peeled my panties off slowly, eyes locked on my pussy. I was completely bare—waxed smooth because I’d always known this day would come. Pink, puffy, glistening. He spread me open with his thumbs and just stared.

“Perfect little virgin pussy,” he said, voice rough. “So small. I don’t know if I’ll fit.”

“You will,” I whimpered. “You have to.”

He slid one finger inside me—slow, careful. I was so tight it burned a little, but in the best way. I moaned, arching up. He worked it in and out, then added a second. I gasped at the stretch, legs shaking. He curled them, found that spot inside me I’d only ever reached myself, and rubbed slow circles until I was grinding against his hand, begging for more.

“Please,” I panted. “I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. Take my virginity. Please.”

He grabbed a condom from his wallet—thank god one of us was thinking clearly—rolled it on with shaking hands. Then he settled between my thighs, rubbing the head up and down my slit, coating himself in my wetness. I was trembling, heart pounding so hard I could hear it.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

I did. Our eyes locked as he pushed in—slow, relentless. The pressure was intense. I felt myself stretching around him, burning, opening for the first time. I whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. He stopped when he hit resistance.

“This might hurt,” he warned.

“Do it,” I gasped. “Make me yours.”

He thrust forward—hard. There it was. The sharp sting, the pop, the sudden fullness as he buried himself inside me. I cried out, tears springing to my eyes, but I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” I sobbed. “Please don’t stop.”

He started moving—slow at first, letting me adjust. The pain faded fast, replaced by the most incredible pressure, pleasure building with every stroke. He was so deep, hitting places I didn’t know existed. I could feel every inch of him dragging against my walls, filling me completely.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “Squeezing me like a vice. This virgin pussy is fucking heaven.”

I moaned louder, rocking up to meet him. “Harder,” I begged. “Fuck me harder. Ruin me.”

He lost it then. Started pounding into me, bed creaking, headboard slamming the wall. My tits bounced with every thrust, nipples grazing his chest. I was so wet I could hear it—obscene squelching sounds as he fucked my freshly broken-in pussy. He reached down and rubbed my clit in tight circles and I shattered—came so hard I saw stars, clenching around him, screaming his name.

He followed seconds later, groaning deep in his throat, hips jerking as he filled the condom.

We lay there panting afterward, his weight on top of me, still inside. I felt sore, stretched, claimed. Perfect.

But I wasn’t done.

I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top. He was already getting hard again. I guided him back inside me—bare this time, because I wanted to feel everything. The second time was slower, deeper. I rode him with my hands on his chest, grinding my clit against him, watching his face as he stared up at me in awe.

“You’re not a virgin anymore,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No,” I whispered, clenching around him. “But I’ll always remember how it felt to give it to you.”

I came again, harder this time, soaking his cock, his thighs, the sheets. He flipped me over and took me from behind—my first time in that position—hands gripping my hips as he slammed into me until I was sobbing into the pillow from how good it hurt.

We fucked all night. In my bed, in the shower, on the floor. He ate my pussy until I was shaking—his tongue the first to ever taste me there. I sucked him off until he came down my throat. By morning I was raw, aching, covered in bites and bruises, cum dried on my thighs.

And I’d never felt more alive.

That night unlocked something in me. I still crave that feeling—the idea that someone out there is obsessed with virgins, with being the first to claim untouched flesh. I know there are men with virgin sex fetishes who dream about girls like I was: pure, desperate, dripping at the thought of finally being filled.

Sometimes I touch myself thinking about doing it again—pretending I’m still a virgin, letting someone new believe they’re the first. The fantasy makes me come so hard I have to bite the pillow to stay quiet.

Because even though I’m not a virgin anymore, part of me will always be that girl—nervous, aching, spreading her legs for the very first cock of her life.

And god, I fucking loved every second of losing it.

I loved the stretch, the burn, the way he looked at me like I was a prize he couldn’t believe he’d won. I loved how wet I got just from knowing no one else had ever been there. I loved the blood on the sheets the next morning—proof that I’d saved it, that I’d given it all to him.

Some girls regret their first time. I replay mine constantly. I touch myself to the memory of that first thrust, that moment my body opened and let him in. I come whispering “virgin” to myself like it’s the dirtiest word in the world.

Because for me, it is.

And if I ever find someone who shares this fetish—who gets hard just thinking about taking a girl’s virginity, who wants to worship and ruin her in the same breath—I’ll spread my legs again and let him pretend.

I’ll let him believe he’s the first.

Even if he isn’t.

Because nothing will ever compare to that night—the night I stopped being a virgin and started being truly, filthy alive.

From pure virgin to completely ruined… and I’ve never been happier.