The King Is Dead

Her turn. There was nothing I could do but recapture her rook. She knew what to do; and she made the most of it. She turned sideways to me, smiling seductively as she pulled her skirt up over her thigh. A garter belt! Well, I always knew she liked to glam it up. Slowly, she unfastened the hooks, and rolled it down, from the lace top all the way to her pointed toe. With her stocking on the tip of her foot, she flicked her leg, and sent it flying across the room, where it landed on the ice bucket. My eyes bugged out. I had never seen anything like this in my life.

The other stocking followed. She resumed her place on the floor, languorously rolling her hips in a way that made me wonder if she wasn't feeling the effects of this between her thighs. "And what happens if you lose the other rook," she asked, in a way which told me she was ready to find out. "Well, the pants, of course; or the skirt, in your case," I replied.

But she didn't offer the rook right away. She went for another exchange of pawns first. There weren't so many pawns left now; and we were close to the end of the second bottle of wine.

I got up to open another bottle of wine; it wasn't easy to stand at this point, much less operate a corkscrew. I heard the clink of pieces on the board. "It's your move," she called out. I looked at the board and she had taken my other rook. There was no holding back. I sighed, reached down to unfasten the belt, unzip the pants, push them down to the floor where I stepped out of them. She caught sight of my underwear; the pouch was bulging noticeably.

I stumbled back to the board. Now I was getting really comfortable; and loose. Making no effort to hide my satisfaction, I said, "Now here's my move." I captured her other rook. She looked at me, seemingly pleased to take the next step. She stood, steadying herself on the edge of the sofa. She loosened the skirt and turned away from me, wiggling her rear end as she pulled it down. With it off, she turned back to me, and raised her arms up to stretch, slowly. I could see her lacy panties matched the brassiere. And she cast a glance at me to make sure I was looking.

With the board getting less crowded, it was not so easy to force the exchange of pieces. Time and again I'd attack, and she would dance away, frustrating all my attempts to make progress. After a number of moves like this, she left a bishop where it could be exchanged. Perhaps she felt sorry for me; perhaps she just felt like turning it up a notch. I didn't need to tell her what to do when I took her piece. She sat up, looking straight at me with a little pout on her face. Slowly she pulled the loosely draped blouse apart, exposing the fullness of her lace-covered bosom. Continuing, she pulled it off her shoulders, and dropped it behind her. She sat proud and erect, her chest lifted to better show off her assets. Through the lace of her brassiere, I could see the shadow of her nipples. For all the times she had teased the public through the years, there weren't many men who had seen her like this.

She looked down briefly, then tossed her head back, and said "My move." Of course, she recaptured, taking my piece off the board. I slipped my shirt off. By this time I was left with nothing but my briefs; and my arousal was obvious. I squirmed to find a comfortable position, struggling to adjust my underwear so it would contain my tumescent organ. She seemed amused.

All the pawns left now were on the queenside. It was getting harder for either of us to hold ourselves up and reach for the pieces, so we gravitated toward that side of the board. I sat cross-legged, the head of my cock popping out of my briefs; there was nothing else to do with it. She lay on her thigh, propping herself up with one arm, exactly where my gaze could focus on her soft cleavage. My exposed cock caught her eye, but she pretended not to notice; she was used to seeing men in an urgent state.

I pushed a pawn, and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Let's call it a draw," I offered, hoping we could move on to some more directly cooperative activities. But she had an advantage, and we both knew it. I was still down a pawn - the pawn I had offered as a gambit so early in the game. The competitor in her refused to make a concession. She thought about it for only a moment, and then quickly moved to capture my pawn, effectively refusing my offer. She tossed her head back with a defiant smile. "Play on," she said.

I got up to get the last bottle of wine, steadying myself on the furniture as I fought off dizziness. I wondered how it would all come out. What would happen if she won? It seemed likely. I would naturally be at her mercy. What might she demand with the headiness of triumph?

I poured my own wine, and drank it there. Returning to the board, she was holding her own glass. "I think you're going to recapture," she said. Her speech was slurred, but her tone was playful. And I noticed one bra strap had slipped off her shoulder. I knew it was no accident! She smiled at me as I poured her glass, leaning into my line of sight so I could see the cup almost falling off her bosom. Driven by desire, I leaned forward to kiss her; but she drew back, saying firmly, "You haven't made your move on the board yet."

We played on. The pace picked up. I tried to maneuver into a drawn position, but she wasn't going to give me anything easily. I was torn between the choices of trying to win, or trying to strip her of all her pieces, leaving her king bare - and her body as well.

I moved to offer an exchange of bishop for knight, even though it meant my position would likely be lost. "We're getting to the endgame," she said, in a tone ripe with meaning. "Yes," I leaned toward her. "It won't be long before we - finish off completely."

She flashed a foxy smile, and captured the offered piece. Then she looked at me; there was only one thing left to take off. I rose up to my knees; standing was out of the question. I tried pushing my briefs down, but they caught on my erect organ. I reached into the pouch and pulled it out, pushing the briefs down around my thighs. My organ hung heavily, at an angle, curving upward slightly; she watched it intently. She shuddered; I could tell something deep inside her responded to its size and its swelling, with the promise of fluids building within.

I collapsed on the floor and grabbed her knight. "Now," I said with a sense of triumph, "Your bra." She pouted, turned away, and angled her head back at me as she motioned toward the clasp. She wanted help; I was more than glad to give it to her. As I unhooked her, I tried to caress her smooth skin. "No," she said firmly: "Go back."

Sitting across the board from me, she crossed her arms across her chest, pulled the straps down, exposing her breasts. They were firm and pale with dark shadows around the nipples. It crossed my mind that her blonde hair was probably lightened; my thoughts ran ahead to what color her other hair might be. Closing her eyes, she arched her head back, ran her hands slowly over her breasts, downward and upward. Her nipples stood up, and she looked me straight in the eye. Was she going to let me have them? Almost unconsciously, I caressed my cock and balls; a little drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip, glistening in the low light.

"What happens if you take my queen?" she said in a husky voice. "Then," I said as I looked down below her waist, "Then the panties come off." As I looked at the lace covering her snatch, I thought I could see some tell-tale wetness. "And," she said, "What happens if I take your queen?" I laughed; "Then nothing. I have nothing left to take off." I smiled. She pouted; "That's not fair," though I could tell she wasn't too unhappy with the way the game was going.

"Remember," I said gently, "this isn't just a game of chess. It is a game between a man and a woman. And the rules for men and women will always, and forever, be different." She smiled to herself at her memory of how she had played the game, always by her own rules. "There are times," I added, "for men to take the lead."

"But it's my turn to move," she said impatiently, breaking the mood. I sighed as she returned her attention to the board, moving a piece and giving me renewed challenges to face. It was hard to focus on the position, with my attention distracted by observing the way her breasts swung back and forth as she leaned over the board to move. But the worst part of it was I was losing.

She forced the exchange of my last pawn; but she still had the one pawn remaining, and I was in a bad position. She was pushing her pawn inevitably to promotion. She would defeat me, utterly. With queens and a couple of other pieces still on the board, I could check repeatedly, but eventually, the checks would run out, and her position would be impregnable. It was routine for a player of her skill and experience.

Desperately I searched for a tactic to save the game. In the fog of my drunkenness my mind went back to the conversation we had had earlier about her win over Velimirovic. He was a fiery character, known to steal wins by gamesmanship not entirely within the rules. I reached into a bag of tricks worthy of the old warrior.

I began to move quickly, as if I had seen a perpetual check to draw the game. I chased her king around the board, from one square to the next. And she moved quickly in response, confident I couldn't trap her king before she could find a safe place for it to rest. And then, suddenly, I skewered her king again her queen. The king would have to move; her queen would be lost, and so would the game! How could she make such a stupid blunder??

With a cry of triumph, I said, "I'm going to take your queen!" She was emotionally shattered, and she submitted to the inevitable. She threw her head back and closed her eyes. "Take me!" she moaned. Her mouth was open. She wanted to be kissed.

I drew close to her, close enough that she could feel my breath. "First," I said, "you must take off the panties." She smiled. Right away she lay back on the floor, arched her hips, pushed the panties down to her knees, and kicked them off.

She smiled at me with desire in her eyes; and she spread her legs wide, ready to give me the privilege of a victor. I could see her clit swollen, and a wet, tender slit between the lips of her pussy. She was ready; and so was I.

I crawled between her legs; she sat up and took the measure of my erect cock with her fingers, tracing it from base to tip, just to savor the dimension of the organ about to penetrate her. Then she lay back again and guided me into her.

She was wet and soft, and I entered her easily. Her pussy was tight; she moaned in pleasure as she felt me push into her tender, intimate place. Perhaps she came; no matter, this one was for me. I lay on top of her and held her shoulders as I penetrated the depth of her body. I began to hump, slowly at first, then with more urgency. I could hear her pleasure, and feel it.

Finally, I reached the point where I knew I was about to release my passion. I raised my head up and looked in her eyes, just as a flick of my hips sent me over the edge. She could see my face contort in ecstasy, and she knew the final act had started. One convulsive thrust followed another. A spasm in my loins sent a huge gush of fresh sperm shooting into her. Then another thrust, another gush. She moaned; she could feel the wetness of my fluids pumping into her, filling her warm space. I went on thrusting and pumping till I had nothing left to give her. I lay on top in exhaustion while she felt the throbbing of my cock slow down and stop. She lay under me in the satisfaction of knowing she had got me to give her everything I had.

I turned over, spent. Within moments I was passed out on the floor.

She was still awake. Not unsatisfied, exactly; it's just that women don't turn over and go to sleep so quickly.

She pulled herself up, slowly, to look once again at the final position in the game she had blundered away. She looked at her king and queen, and pondered what she might have done differently. Then she looked at my king; and with a shock of realization, she saw I had been in check! My last move had been illegal! It was -- a cheapo. I had pulled a classic swindle on her. In the heat of the moment, she had not noticed to call me out.

She was up on all fours now, moving pieces around the board. She may have been drunk, but she was full of the energy that comes with righteous indignation. Just then, she felt a flash of wetness between her thighs. My fresh seed was leaking out of her.

With a sigh, she sat back down. When the game is over, there is no going back. She looked over at my body, sound asleep, and smiled. Looking at the board, she reached out slowly and tipped over my king. "Shah mat," she said softly. "The king is dead."