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?!"
