("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Echeque
by Arthur "LoveWhip" Shuey 
(webmaster@onthestreet.zzn.com)

***

Mind as most erotic organ to chess to power game to 
domination. (MF, ws)

***

It was an acceptable afternoon. Outside was a pewter 
sky, but we were inside, dressed to the extent of 
bathrobes, stretched out on opposite sides of a chess 
board in front of the hearth, half-wondering who was 
going to get up to open the second bottle of 
gewürztraminer. In short, we were doing nothing, 
because we could.

She was tall, not my six feet, two inches but a solid 
five foot ten. Her hair was long, a lighter brown than 
my own, and curly, a cloud mass framing her pale face 
and lips and riveting gray eyes and easily covering her 
shoulders. Contemplating the next move as idly as I'd 
been wondering about the wine and other matters 
throughout the lazy afternoon, I almost felt jolted 
awake when she spoke.

"Your glass is empty," she noted in a quiet, even tone, 
reaching for the rose-tinted, transparent goblet beside 
me.

Coming back to reality enough to see her start to rise, 
it took me a discernible measure of time to register 
that she had merely gotten up on one knee and, my 
goblet in one hand, was loosening the bow holding her 
kimono together with the other. Glancing up to her 
face, I noticed a slight flush, as subtle as the 
goblet's tint in the flickering light from the 
fireplace. There was a slight smile, but the eyes were 
somehow guarded. 

As she was opening her kimono, I quickly looked down 
from her face, not pondering the eyes at any length. 
Soon enough, the garment fell open, breaking like a 
tide on either side of her raised knee. First hooking 
one side with the base of my goblet to widen the 
opening, she then held my glass directly beneath her 
cunt. Automatically, my eyes swept back up toward her 
face, where answers are usually found, but stopped at 
her lower belly, just above her bush, where I could see 
muscles tauten and strain.

It was an effort, but I was finally able to look back 
at her face. Her eyes were narrowed, almost closed, and 
she was biting her lower lip a bit in concentration. My 
vision lept back down between her legs.

Eight hundred generations since the cave and thousands 
prior had shaped the mores that kept her bladder sealed 
against her will, and there were a few more seconds of 
silent strain evident in the muscles of her inner 
thighs and lower belly before I saw the first trickle 
slide down the inside of the glass. 

The few spurts that followed, filling the goblet 
slightly less than halfway, captivated me. I wanted to 
feel the glass become heavier and become her 
temperature, and I wanted to hold it just to serve her 
at that moment as well. I also wanted to move it down 
an inch or two from where she had it pressed against 
her cunt so that I could see and hear her piss instead 
of getting a silent sight distorted by the goblet and 
the fireplace behind her, but I couldn't move at all.

That is, I couldn't successfully plan a move and have 
it take place. Movement was going on, specifically, the 
swelling of my cock and an unconscious leaning forward. 
By the time her stomach muscles relaxed and she removed 
the goblet from beneath her cunt, there was a thick 
drop of prejac forming at my tip.

Carefully placing the wineglass on the floor beside our 
rug, she reclined once more onto her side, catching my 
eye at the same time and holding it, her glance now 
somehow triumphant. There was a slight rasping sound as 
she slid the glass across the floor to me.

"There. Now your glass isn't empty anymore." This was 
all new, and I was all hesitation and confused desire 
as she continued in a coaxing, almost parental tone, 
"Drink it. It's good for you. Be a good boy and pick 
the glass up."

Logically, I know that cooling that close to the hearth 
was insignificant in the seconds that had elapsed, that 
the goblet was pretty close to 98.6 degrees, but it 
felt as if it was scalding the palm of my hand when I 
picked it up, my eyes still absolutely held by hers. As 
much as she'd been at war with herself while pushing 
her urine into the glass, I was in conflict over 
absorbing its heat now. It seemed like an intrusion, 
feeling her temperature that way.

At the same time, I knew where it was going, and the 
last thing I wanted to do at that moment was disobey 
her or trip up the moment's rhythm in any way. As I 
slowly raised the wineglass, she raised her right leg 
and reached down between her legs. Playing briefly in 
the droplets reflected in the firelight, she defined 
that rhythm precisely with a fingertip circling her 
clit.

I was part anxious lover, wanting to race closer and 
closer to a great, great climax, part tribal sacrifice 
urged toward the block by the drums, as I slowly raised 
the glass to my lips. Just before it actually touched 
them, I could smell it, hot, bittersalt, heavier, 
headier, more potent and more slippery than wine or 
water. I then tilted the glass enough for a wine 
taster's portion to enter my mouth and savored it.

As intuitive smell had informed, it was slippery. 
Rolling my tongue back and forth to coat my taste buds 
with her piss, I noticed how easily it slid against the 
roof of my mouth and inside of my lips. I knew that we 
would keep this act and use it in the future to make my 
tongue slippery for her clit and later, as we 
progressed, her asshole.

I moaned and pushed my hips forward. Across the 
chessboard, she responded, her mouth opening slightly, 
silently urging me to proceed. I upended the glass, 
filling my mouth quickly, before there was any hint of 
disobedience, hesitation or cooling from the body heat 
she'd squirted into it. It was a large mouthful, and I 
almost gulped as I swallowed the whole dose.

It sent a charge through my body like a magic potion; 
making me ready to do absolutely anything she wanted 
and making me want her to test me. With no physical 
contact whatsoever, there was already a gossamer strand 
of prejac slowly swinging and descending to the floor 
from the tip of my cock.

Her mouth then closed in another odd, secretive smile. 
She stopped rubbing her clit, reached forward, briefly 
rubbed the top of one of her bishops' hats in a motion 
quite similar to the one she'd been using on herself 
and moved the piece forward three diagonal spaces to 
the right. "Checkmate," she announced, and I had no 
choice but to agree.

END

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 41