Stories by Gwen

 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...

 I take a last sip of wine, admiring the ruby clarity of the pool of Cabernet, and then I raise my eyes to your face across the table. The light from the torches adds a glow to your skin and their reflection puts a dancing gleam in your eyes. The rest of the diners have left, leaving us alone on the terrace. I take your hand as we stand. We turn for a moment and look out at the waves where they are lit by the moonlight and the torches. I stand close behind you, rub my hands lightly up and down the skin of your bare arms. You lean back against me as we watch the waves roll in and dash up the sandy shore. For a moment I feel your warm body pressed against me. We wander down the stone staircase to the beach, where you feel a breeze swirl the light fabric of your skirt against your legs. We remove our shoes and leave them at the base of the stairs. I take your hand and we begin walking slowly along the shore. The moon's silvery light makes the waves shine like cascades of diamonds as t...

What would it be like, I wonder, for you to simply give me your pleasure? Hand me the keys. Yield yourself up fully. You'll feel pleasure when I decide and how I decide. Edging. Cumming again and again. A long slow build-up or a quick jolt of release. When and where I say. Yes, I want to choose your clothes every day. I want to see my name written on your body. I want to hear you say that you exist to belong to me. I want to see in your eyes that ownership completes you, thrills and satisfies you in an emotional way that is only adjacent to sexuality. I want to own you so I can take care of you and guide you into thrilling situations and teach you to please me, because I know how deeply you need to give me pleasure too. I want to own you so my praise means something to you. But most of all, I want your pleasure. You know that I will respect and honor the gift. I will use it for your benefit, with growing expertise and confidence as we learn each other more thoroughly, wee...

I worked with her brother first. I met him on the job, at that coffee shop that connected me to everything, the place I found myself among an odd group of hard-drinking poets and intellectuals. He tried my name, discarded it with a frown, and renamed me "Freak" almost immediately. She started a month or two later. She looks like her brother: tall, lanky. I learn that she is polyamorous and bisexual. She has a child. She is quick, whip-smart, funny. We have fun at work. We talk about books and chess in the slow afternoon hours. Sometimes her boyfriend comes in and leans on the bar. (I cycle between wonderfully engaging and cripplingly shy; there is no middle ground.) She likes to point out women she finds attractive and I assess them with her. I don't consider myself bisexual but beauty is beauty and I'm not blind. One night she invites me to come over, north of the city, where she lives in the woods. She suggests we get some beer, play some chess, hang out. ...

It's a country town and the traveler is just passing through. That's what she tells herself. She drives slowly down a narrow street on the wrong side of town, scanning storefronts for a number she's written on the scrap of paper she clutches against the wheel. It's the kind of town that always thought it would get bigger. The town square is ringed with empty storefronts. A wide bridge spans the rushing water of a mountain stream. A lone stoplight presides over the junction of Main Street with the two-lane county highway that got her here. Farm trucks are parked in a neat diagonal row in front of the feed store. Five steeples are visible, revealing the presence of at least five churches of interchangeable evangelical denominations. On the way to this neighborhood she passed three pawnshops. But even this town is changing. She saw the trucks, far down the mountain, on her way in. The work crews were sweating over earth-movers and directing traffic with flags. The pr...

I am thinking about going to dinner with you. We’d dress nicely: a little black dress for me, that pretty white lace thing I’ve seen you in. We’d wear heels and do our hair and eat at a restaurant where a creepy waiter would wink at us when we order oysters. “They’re an aphrodisiac, you know.” All through dinner I'd have my hands on you. My hand rests on your thigh, just below the hem of your dress, as the waiter brings us our drinks. When the appetizers come, my hand is on your lower back, caressing. It is the longest dinner of all time. In the cab we are desperate for each other but we try to remain appropriate. My hand is much farther up your dress, playing along the skin of your inner thigh. I can feel your hot breath on my neck, your tongue tracing loops on the skin behind my ear. I am swollen, hot, needy. Your face is flushed. When we get to the door you fumble in your purse for the keys. My arms are around you from behind, pulling you back against me. My hands a...

We're friends, just friends. I'm staying over and we share a bed - just sharing a room because the house is crowded. Something wakes me up and I look over at you. Even in the dim light I can see that your eyes are closed. I assume you're asleep. But from the way you're breathing and the way the blankets are moving, after a minute I can tell you're masturbating. That turns me on. I begin pinching my nipples through the thin cotton of the t-shirt I'm sleeping in. I slip a hand down and begin touching myself through my panties. My eyes adjust to the moonlight and I can see you pretty clearly now. Your face is flushed. Your breathing is quick and shallow. Our motions are pulling the blankets down. I don't pull them up as they slip lower and lower. I look over and see your hand at your breasts - squeezing, pinching, groping. I pull my shirt up then, exposing my breasts in the moonlight. My motion must have alerted you that I have awakened, becaus...

A rueful smile formed on my lips as I looked out the window of the hotel room. Across the parking lot blinked the orange neon sign with its familiar owl emblem. I sent the message: You’re taking me to Hooters for our first date? She messaged back: Yes. I wasn’t surprised. Gwen is aware of my issues. She is my domme, after all. We have a different kind of dynamic. I don’t expect anyone to understand it. It's none of their business. She told me where to be and when to be there. I went. I don’t question her. If I did, she wouldn’t answer. Some things in life just are. I showered, brushed my hair, and dressed. The outfit I had brought to wear - the short, low-cut dress that had seemed right when I tried it on at home - was all wrong. I studied myself in the mirror, hating what I saw. My heart began beating erratically and the familiar pangs of an anxiety attack set in. I sipped a minibar brandy from the tiny bottle, willing my heart to slow down. The thought of leaving t...

It wasn't until I was at the airport that I learned your flight had been canceled. I got to the airport in plenty of time for once, a big bouquet of roses in hand, to welcome you home. I ran all the way to the cross-country arrival gates and strode up to the info screen with plenty of time. You would be so surprised to see me! And then I saw it. Flight 303  was blinking and highlighted. Canceled. I felt my shoulders slump. The birthday curse had struck again. My identical twin sister and I would spend the day on opposite sides of the continent once more. My phone buzzed. It was you. "Don't go to the airport," you said. "My flight's canceled." "Too late," I replied. "I'm already there!" "What - you? On time? I don't believe it!" "I got here with time to spare. And I got you roses." "You didn't!" I took a quick photo of the bouquet and sent it to her. "You did!" ...

"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...

Dear Miss Gwen, I don't know how to say this or write this and I'm not even sure if you even want to talk to me ever again. I am so so sorry how I acted and I want you to know that I wish I could go back and take it all back. I know that doesn't mean a lot considering what i did but I hope you will find a way to forgive me. Because thinking that you are angry at me breaks my heart. So please write back and let me know that you don't hate me. I am at the camp my parents sent me to. Everyone here is so nice but they find all kinds of ways to tell us how we should and shouldn't act. Some of the girls had troubles with drugs and some with drinking and others with getting pregnant. I think I am the only girl here because I like girls. No that's not really true. I have to be honest if I am going to get a second chance with you, and I really really want a second chance! I don't like girls - that's not why I am here. I'm here because I love you. 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...

I watch her walk into the bar. She walks unsteadily on heels so shiny I can tell she bought them today. Her dress looks new too: a sheath in silky red, short enough to flirt with the wrong side of trashy. She downs her first drink quickly. Dressed like that, she's working up the courage to do something foolish. She needs a drink or two to steady her nerves. I crook my finger and Nate comes over. "Another?" "I'm buying for the lady at the bar," I say. Nate glances at her and smiles. "I thought so," he replies. Nate returns with my drink, then delivers one to her. She looks over and smiles at me, and I raise my glass in a long-distance toast. I walk over and take the seat next to her. We make small talk, and I try to look fascinated as she tells me about her life. She practically blossoms, she is so grateful to have someone paying attention to her. She's getting teary-eyed about her granny's apple pie or some such nonsense whe...

You see me climb the stairs to the library's second-floor study hall, but I haven't noticed you yet. I set down my backpack and make myself at home at one of the tables across from you, pulling out a stack of notebooks. I sort through the binders, selecting a red one, and sit back to review my notes. It is then that I glance up and see you across the room. You smile. I wave, then return to my notebook. You take a look around the second floor, where a handful of earnest students are plugging away at laptops and taking notes from thick textbooks. The smile returns to your face as you are struck by inspiration. The next time I glance up, your plaid wool schoolgirl's skirt is hiked up over your crossed legs, offering a delectable view of your 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 th...