Message-ID: <5795eli$9711232357@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MarArch@ix.netcom.com (the poetic one) Subject: Checkmate (4/4 - D/s, no sex) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3477d920.42056511@nntp.ix.netcom.com> Checkmate, final part by DMGPoet They sat, once more, on opposite sides of the cool, smooth table, their eyes half-lidded from the heat of the just concluded dance, minds awash with a thousand images of pain and pleasure and power, each fixed upon the other yet floating in some distant place. All about them were the murmurs of banalities lightly flicked into the open air by those who encompassed them at other tables, yet sat unaware of what was transpiring even in their midst. Those touches, of body to body, hand to hand, eye to eye over so short a distance as between the pressed bodies of two contending dancers had roiled them both, and now they sat, each lingering on the edge of an eruption of fluid and sensation, like suicides at some tall cliff, eager to toss themselves over yet held back against their will. For still neither had conceded, and each was strong enough to withhold such pleasure from themselves until acknowledgement of that surrender was clearly made and accepted. Only then would the contest end, the victor crowned with possession of the prize... the living body of the other. He made an effort of will to draw in a deep, steadying breath, and gathered up his thoughts from the fields of wicked images, coaxing them back to where he sat, hard, throbbing and alert. They were beyond words now... beyond the need for either to make any statement of intent or desire or command. The end game was upon them, and lacked only the final moves to see either a victor or a draw declared. He smiled slowly, seeing that she was still in some distant place where throbbing of nipple, clit and depth of sex held sway over her mind... a sign of her weakness, perhaps, the mused... that she could so abandon herself to that pleasure as to fall, addicted to its charms, while he could pull himself back from it and spin the energy up to other purposes... or was it merely the nature of her sex, her womanhood, that so unfairly was given by nature the means to drown in that pleasure where man could only sip lightly before his thirst was sated. And if that be the case, then was he really the stronger? Or so far below her capacity as to be unnoticable. He knew that, when she bottomed, this woman caught fire from the pit of her soul and her radiant heat would blister all around her, searing any gazing eye with the flash and blaze of her eruptions of pleasure. And even as his feelings rose to be the match that sparked those flames... to be the engineer of that passion and power... to own and control and channel it as he would desire, yet he fell into an unabashed awe of it, as if confronted with a force of nature more powerful than his understanding could absorb, able only to watch and marvel at it. Suddenly, she gave up a deep, rich sigh and blinked as if awakening, and he could see her eyes clearing, sharpening, focusing on him once more. And when the smile played onto her lips, the revelation flooded through him that it was the smile of a woman who had crossed that peak.... pushed off into that chasm and floated down to the concluding torent below. My God, he thought, she just now made herself cum.... without touch, without motion.... only the force of her mind, fueled by whatever visions she conjoured up to stoke the revery. And his awe mixed with admiration and envy.... never in his life of practiced skill and debauchery had he ever once managed to crest that peak without some small assistance of touch or carress. Yet here sat one who, through mere thought, could leap into that void of pleasure as freely as the taking off of a dove to flight, spreading it's wings and savoring the air. Deep within him a grain of sorrow welled into existance... that realization that sometimes comes to combatants in the moment they realize they are truly overmatched, and all the bluster and show of force they may have made stands revealed as so much empty theatre. Of course, even at that moment all hope is not lost. Some trick of luck or some unbidden skill may yet trip up the enemy and see them victorious. But somehow, at that moment, the understanding of their own frailty settles hard upon them, and they never afterward can draw forth the arsenal of bluster without knowledge of its hollowness. She floated on the afterglow of the moment, savoring the tingling that rolled in waves from her loins, feeling it ripple up her spine and tickle the hairs at her neck, even as it's farthest flood made her aware of her toes and fingertips. Had it been him, she wondered.... had his natural power somehow planted itself more deeply into her with each brush of covered flesh on covered flesh as the music pulsed around them than she had realized. And why, as her mind drifted to that library of memory and imagination wherein were stored the endless images of past play and play yet to come, had she suddenly seen herself as the one who hung, sacrificially, on the cross, naked and helpless under the ministration of his control? Why had that moved her so deeply, even to the urgent, crying clenching of her sex? And why had she felt the sudden rightness of it... the perfection.... the peace of her surrender to him, if only in her own imagination? For it had been in that hazy thought of his voice, whispering in her tormented ear, the words "cum slave" that had burst open the portals of her pleasure and wracked her unmoving form with the silent, unseen explosion. And what did that mean? Had she already conceded the game to him? Or merely realized the hopelessness of further struggle against something that was ordained, beyond her power to change or prevent, holding as it did, in defeat, such sweet rewards. The very air around them because as crystal, vibrant yet delicate to the least shattering, as they stared at one another. Each could feel some part of the other reaching out with the smokey extension of thought that, as yet, could be sensed but not read. Yet in time each knew that the language of that silent connection would come to be well understood between them, and a simple fragmentary look would speak volumes... of command, obedience, joy, surrender and possession. He cleared his throat, fearful that a huskiness might cause his voice to crack at this most vital moment, then spoke, quietly. "We should go" he said. "Yes" she whispered back. And both knew that their desitination, which lay on the other side of some short motion from where they now sat to another, more private place, would be the place of concession... or defeat and victory... or fantasies fulfilled and souls sacrificed. "Who drives" he said, his voice flat. "Me" she replied, simplicity of truth in the single word. "Will my car be safe here overnight" he intoned, his voice dull and dreamy. "I don't know this area very well." "Is anything safe" she stated. He nodded slowly, not in agreement but understanding. He had an urge to reach out and take her hand, to touch it, bless it, seek something in it's grasping, but the urge died in the leadenness of his arms and he merely sighed. Silently, within the same instant, they both slid from the booth, their motion dreamlike and fluid, like some underwater drifting, and moved slowly toward the door... It was a warm night, he thought, even as he tugged the leash, causing little Toby to snort dismissively at whatever he had found in the grass just off the sidewalk and trot to match his masters' pace again. The dog had already done his nightly business and now they strolled merely for the joy of the motion, together, the elderly man and his tiny, white and brown mottled companion. Just a few more blocks now, he thought. Down the hill, past the restaurant and around the corner to the house, the kicking off of his shoes and whatever happened to be on tv at that time. For Toby it meant curling in his lap and long, slow strokes on the head. He moved steadily on, the restaurant sliding by him on his left, the deep parking lot beyond it just edging into view around the building, and, as fate would chance it, he happened to glance over in that direction. He would never afterward be sure of exactly what it was he saw, nor what exactly what it might have meant. It had come into his vision, fixed and then been blocked from sight as he passed beyond the hedge that walled the bottom end of the lot. He didn't even slacken his pace to try and get a better look at it. After all, whatever it was, it was really none of his business, was it. Still, it did look strange. Way back, almost at the far end of lot, just to the front of where a pool of light from an overhanging, sheilded bulb cast a pool on the dark asphalt behind them, were the silhouettes of the two people. Had he taken the time to truly fix on them, squinted against the slowly failing perscription of his out-dated glasses, he might have been able to make out if it had been two men, two women or one of each... though something told him it was the latter. But what had caught his attention and implanted even the faintest brushing of a memory of it on his mind was the fact that, at the very moment he caught sight of them, they had been standing face to face, as if in conversation... and then, most strangly, one of them sank to its knees, drew its arms behind its back and bowed its head.... just before the bushes blocked his further view of the distant scene. Be interesting to know what the hell was going on, he thought, idly. But then, it's none of my business, now is it. He gave the leash another sharp tug to pull Tody's attention back from some fresh treasure discovered in their path, and they moved along... toward home.... -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /