Stories by Gwen

I've been teasing Eva all morning. She's at work but she makes time to do the little tasks I assign her. Today she has stood before the mirror in the ladies' room and teased her lovely nipples for me. I gave her a script: I belong to you, Miss Gwen. I'm your filthy horny slut and I'll do whatever you say. I'm your fucktoy, your insatiable pussy-licking whore. You own me, every filthy nasty bit of me, and I'll do anything you want. Anything. She recited this as she pinched and twisted and tugged her nipples hard, watching in the mirror, hoping none of her colleagues would come in. We have had some close calls in the past. I know the pain in her nipples travels through Eva's body like lightning, quickly making her pussy wet. I have her dab some of that wetness on her pulse points like perfume and smear some more on her face. Anyone who gets close to her today will smell her sex, like an animal in heat. Eva returns to work, her bra and panties tu...

I snuggle next to Eva, enjoying the sweet drowsy softness of her body against mine. I pull her just a bit closer, giving her a little squeeze. The sun is warm where it falls through the lace curtains. It's going to be a hot day. But right now everything is perfect. The warmth, the sun, the long day ahead...I sigh in contentment. "What’s for breakfast?" Eva mumbles. "Mmmmmm," I respond. "Bring me coffee." I roll over, grateful for a few more minutes of sleep. Eva giggles and gives my ass a little squeeze as she slips from the bed "Yes, Miss Monster. Will there be anything else for you, Mistress? Shall I shine your shoes, Mistress?" She laughs as she pads out to the kitchen. My face breaks into a sleepy half-smile as I listen to her leave. "Mistress." "Monster." What must she really think of me? A neat freak, a nerd, a wine lover, an opera fan. What could have drawn us together? I glance at the stack of paper...

It happened. The stars aligned with my nerve and my libido. I was about to drive eight hours to meet a tantalizing woman I'd been conversing with online. For coffee, we agreed. Coffee. I'm not saying that coffee is always code for sex, but I am saying that there were plenty of java shops between my place and hers that wouldn't require two tanks of gas and an overnight bag. Everything was packed and loaded. Under my comfortable road clothes was my skankiest lingerie. Under that was a very pale and nervous me. To say I'd never done anything like this before would be the understatement of the year. But I was recklessly restless and she was terribly tantalizing. I was locking my apartment door when I got her message. I had told her I was ready to hit the road. I was expecting a "drive safe," or a "call me when you get here." I was not expecting instructions Once every hour, pull over and play with yourself for five minutes: no more and no less...

Gwen is coming to town. For two or three weeks, it's all I can think about. Gwen is coming. I'm counting the days. Finally the big day arrives. She invites me to meet her at her hotel - the same luxury business hotel where she always stays. She always gets a big suite on the floor reserved for frequent travelers. I park in the lot and make my way through the lobby. I announce myself to the concierge on Gwen's floor, who checks a list before directing me to a door at the end of the hall. I press the button and hear a musical chime. The door opens and Gwen is there. I am always surprised, in person, to be taller than Gwen. Her virtual presence is larger than life. I guess that's natural, given the nature of our relationship. Gwen is dominant, I am submissive. I get pleasure from being told what to do, from being or doing or experiencing whatever Gwen decides. She gets pleasure, she says, from controlling me, from treating me like an object, a sex toy to be used however s...

I've decided to allow you to attend your company party. I am escorting you. We'll put on evening dresses to mingle with the corporate executives and important clients. I'm wearing a little cocktail dress. You're wearing a black halter dress and a delicate collar that discreetly symbolizes that you belong to me. And heels, of course. The party is being held high above the city. The room is beautiful in a spare, modern way. There's a bar in the middle, and all around the edges are floor-to-ceiling windows. You can stand and look down at cars navigating the nighttime streets far below. We look at out the moon and it seems almost close enough to touch. You see your co-workers in a new light, dressed up as they never dress for work, all in their fanciest and prettiest clothes. Suits and ties, cocktail dresses, gowns. The executives and their young trophy wives cluster together drinking scotch. We sip wine as we walk slowly through the room, intent in conversation. After ...

Attending a women's college was not my idea. I had the grades to get into any number of good universities. What I lacked was the means. St. Abigail offered a generous scholarship and a work-study program that would afford me a chance to earn spending money during the school year. Once my parents did the numbers, the decision was made. The brochure tried hard to sell the benefits of single-sex studying. St. Abigail would give me "a chance to focus on classwork without the social distractions of a typical campus," all that. I had my own opinion: All work and no play makes Jen a dull girl. But as I say, it wasn't my decision. And so it was I found myself in Prior Hall on a crisp New England morning. Freshman composition. Some of the classes that met later in the week might prove to be a challenge, but I wasn't worried about composition. I know how to write grammatical sentences and well-structured essays. I actually didn't think I needed this remedial course...

 I lead you to the bedroom and relieve you slowly, gradually of your clothes, murmuring endearments as I unbutton, unclasp, unzip, drawing the fabric across your skin slowly and deliberately as I unwrap you like a precious gift. When the last shred of fabric is gone I pull you gently to the bed. I arrange you there on hands and knees. I gently position your knees until the space between them is precise. You work with me earnestly to take precisely the position I have in mind. I press my hand softly on the sweet skin between your shoulder blades and you understand that I mean for you to drop your face to the mattress. You're on the bed now in the position I've chosen for you, the side of your face flat against the bedspread, your ass raised high over spread thighs. It is an unambiguous position. You can't write like this. It's not a comfortable way to watch television. You're not going to arrange yourself this way to have a beer. No. This position is about sex and on...

"But where are we going?" Linda asks me, for something like the sixth time. "Linda...you are so impatient! A birthday present is supposed to be a surprise, so let me surprise you." She crosses her arms over her breasts and settles back into the passenger seat with a frustrated sigh as I continue driving. "Can't you give me a hint?" she asks. "Look," I reply. "We're here." I'm just turning the car into the parking lot of a lingerie shop. "Happy birthday," I say. "This is my birthday present?" she asks. "Sexy outfits? Isn't that more like a present for you?" I sputter for a moment before she leans over and gives me a kiss. "I'm just teasing you, darling," she says. "This is very sweet of you." She smiles broadly. "Let's shop!" We walk through the store and admire the offerings: pajamas and negligees and camisoles and nightgowns. Panties and...

I take my seat on the train as I do every weekday morning. I haven't noticed you yet. I set down my purse and open my newspaper. I glance up then and see you in a facing seat several rows away. You smile. I wave. We've never spoken, but we have watched each other struggle with umbrellas and heels for two years. I sneak a glance at your slim legs, then return to my newspaper. You take a look around the train car. A handful of earnest commuters are flicking fingers against their cell-phone screens or vacantly looking out the window as we pull out of the station. A smile lights your face as you are struck by inspiration. The next time I glance up, your dress is hiked up over your crossed legs, offering a delectable view of your bare thighs. I look for a moment, then allow my eyes to rise to your face. I blush as I realize you have caught me looking. You hold my gaze as you uncross and recross your legs. I gulp as my blush intensifies. I return my gaze to my newspaper b...