Sonia and Preston play a friendly game of chess, her way.
Preston came home after a long day at work, not expecting much, or having the expectation of doing much. He didn’t know whether his ‘roommate’ would be in, and was perfectly fine with falling asleep on the couch, watching TV. But like his roommate had a habit of doing, the genius innovator arrived home to find something special waiting for him – the chessboard set-up, and an opponent patiently waiting for him, wearing little else than a shirt, and a smile hidden behind fingers pressed to her mouth, or so his eyes could see.
“What’s this?” he asked the exact question from his thoughts.
“What’s it look like?” was her answer, replied back to him with playful sass.
Setting his bag and coat near the apartment entrance, he walked up to the arranged playing area, already analyzing the situation as if the game had already begun. It started with the fact that Sonia claimed that she played the game when she was younger, but forgot how to play over the years, and yet the board was set up perfectly for a set, every bishop, knight, rook, and royalty piece in order. Then he remembered how she caught him playing a few speed games alone online. He could tell it looked strange to her, but she never thoroughly questioned it, and he figured she just chalked it up to one of his small, harmless quirks.
Like some smart players have, maybe she just feigned the fact that she couldn’t play, until it was time for her to hustle him, for some other reason. “What didn’t she already have of him?” he asked himself. After a span of time with her whose approximation eluded him sometimes (times flies, fun, and all that), she only needed to ask or imply and she’d have what she’d want, probably of anyone. The look on her face intrigued him though; she maybe had her heart’s desire, but it looked like she was playing for sport, over-confidently at that if this was supposed to be strip chess or something. He considered stripping down to match her, but the last thing he needed was an exposed tell sticking out, giving her signals the higher head didn’t mean to.
It occurred to him that he’d stopped somewhere in the middle of approaching her, thinking deeply to himself, smiling, slightly aroused. Admittedly it wasn’t just her feminine charms that got him going; the thrill of a challenge in chess contributed a great deal. He knew this would be a great, memorable game. She raised an eyebrow, and he couldn’t tell if that was interest or impatience, so he sat down on the couch across from her, and focused on the board. He would have to leave his focus there, and not be so distracted by a force with the pesky side-effect of rerouting his blood flow away from his brain. But he looked up at her as cordially as he could, trying to treat her like a respectable opponent instead of an irresistible muse and mistress.
“So, how shall we begin?” he asked.
She moved her fingers away from her lips, but her fingers spoke instead with a crisp finger snap that made Preston involuntarily blink. Her smile didn’t change; he didn’t know whether the meaning was her version of a sounding bell to start, or a trick up her rolled-up sleeves. He was willing to bet both. Looking back down at the board, he noticed there was a haze around the pieces, a wavy perception of the board. The effect seemed very ineffectual, if it was made to throw him off his game. His senses didn’t feel any different; there was no sense of vertigo, wooziness, or feeling tipsy. Even if there was, he had enough experience to play in his head with his eyes closed.
Everyplace else off the board was perfectly clear, and the sight of Sonia herself was just perfect. Looking at her was the bigger threat, seeing her creamy legs crossed over one another, her distracting supermodel posture, dark eyes darker than the pieces on the board, and all-too inviting. If the arm that reached up to her face a little to either side, he could get a peek at her equally-inviting cleavage. A flash of her feet passed through his mind. Despite being hid behind the table holding up the board, he imagined her toes could be painted the same as her fingernails, maybe wearing sandals or slippers, or just bare and beautiful. He couldn’t think about it too long because he could involuntarily close his eyes and focus on all of those bewitching aspects of her. She did nothing to encourage his beguilement except to just be near him; she really didn’t need to do much else.
It took a few deep breaths, and a mental command keep his resist blinking so often, but he let the competitor within rise to the surface, and started the game. He moved one of his pawns, as did she. They both started using only a few paws to allow their stronger pieces to start playing the board. His white pieces penetrated her defenses first, playing strong, but not too strong as to not be so dominant, and not get caught in any unseen trap. Sonia played conservatively, up to a crucial point he didn’t see at first. The waviness of the pieces didn’t distract him, but her hand movements, the dark nail polish dancing as if strategizing her next move. Somehow he lost a bishop he didn’t mean to, which put his offense on hold. Then came a trap from a black pawn which bottlenecked the white king into running for his life. He nearly escaped, but all her moves let him escape into a choke point that became a series of checks, and eventually a checkmate.
He looked up at her, and gave her a nod, politely acquiescing to the fact that the first set was hers. She gave the slightest of nods back. He admitted that he didn’t really give the first set his all, and that he was just feeling her out. She was good, at least he knew that for a fact. Somewhere along the line, when the game started turning in her favor, Preston started to use an imagery technique of seeing the game played from both sides. He was so used to the physical act of it, that doing it only in his head left him a little rusty. By the start of the second set, he was confident in being able to see the whole board.
The second set started the same as the first, pawns shifting, letting the board develop into a real skirmish once the first few went down. Preston looked at all the white and black pieces, seeing all the strategies, all the possible plays develop. Sonia was more conservative this time, merely waiting to draw her prey out. He looked right into her eyes, saying little else but ‘come on in’ with their gleam. Her fingers still twitched, probably doing the same thing his mind was doing. He didn’t think she’d turn the tables by taking a sniper-esque approach with her bishops and knights, especially by giving up her rooks to do it. But she played chicken with one of them, and let her bishops double-back every time a move was taken. She chipped away at his white pieces until she made the white queen move to attack. He waved his fingers around the board to pretend he was guessing his next move, and to watch them move in the haze. Seeing his fingers, he realized for the first time that he started looking at the board like it had a opaque spiral spinning around the pieces. She took her time taking him down one piece at a time, while he got distracted by the colors of the pieces, since they meshed with the spinning black and white lines. He was successful in not getting sucked into the spiral’s center, but not in saving his queen, and having Sonia’s dominate the rest of the set.
Preston’s ego felt the pressure to perform better than he was. He didn’t doubt he was up against a skilled opponent, whether she could play him like a finely-tuned instrument or not. He closed his eyes for a few moments and saw her sitting across from him, matching her steady breathing before he knew it. But he opened his eyes quickly to come back to the game, promising to himself to at least win one set so to not be beaten by landslide.
He set all the pieces back in-place, watching his roommate’s face who looked like she hadn’t changed one bit. He didn’t fight the fact that their breathing was totally in-sync now, but he started a very aggressive move against her, boldly putting his best men into the fray early. He’d taken all of her rooks before she even got half of his. He was really getting into the game, picturing the board and the pieces from every angle, not realizing right away he was also in-sync with the spiral’s counter-clockwise movement, like swirling waters where his strategy started to go down the drain. He played faster, but the spiral also spun faster, so fast that he was getting lost in his own moves, and second-guessed himself.
The spiral itself felt like it was becoming less opaque, and stayed in his eyes for longer. He looked up at her, still very calm and collected, and even sexier in his eyes. The effect of the spiral made him blink, and each blink was a flash of her body or visage. Even the colors of the pieces distracted him; the whites reminded him of her luscious skin, the dark reminded him of her raven, cascading hair, nail and lip color, and those eyes he knew were looking into his soul, from across the table, being soothed by them somehow.
Trying to play, his moves were sluggish; keeping the memory of how to play the game was the only easy thing. But he knew when she would take advantage of him, watching her black queen take every light-colored piece down. Part of him reasoned that it was her shadowy, silky power eclipsing every thought, letting them rest until only her power was on the board, on his mind. Preston couldn’t believe he worked so hard at beating her, only to watch that queen take his, and the king, as is she was always set to win.
All he could hear from her end was a sultry giggle, one of the only signs of life from his dominant opponent. He wanted to show some sign of bewilderment, of disappointment in himself, but he felt too blissed out to want to consider something negative. Raising his gaze off the board and toward Sonia, Preston leaned back against the couch cushion and just watched her, speechless. Leaning back, his leg hit the edge of the board, and he saw and felt it rotate against his leg. He touched the board and began spinning the board around. The experienced chess player wondered why he never noticed the center of the table under it, a new piece of furniture she’d bought, could do that, as well as why it felt familiar to turn it.
It all came into place when he looked back at his roommate. He remembered playing Sonia, but only assumed and not once saw her hand touch a single piece on the board. When she spoke to him earlier in the day, paying attention more to how good it felt instead of her exact words of encouragement, a part of his slightly-tranced mind did remember hearing something to do with chess. And now the substance of her talk revealed itself – he’d played mindfully on behalf of himself, and mindlessly on behalf of Sonia. It could’ve been luck that her dark-colored pieces won three sets in a row, but he knew her well enough to know they were symbolic of the incredible hypnotist in-general – she would always win, and he had no reason to complain about that fact.
Moving her idle arm from under the other’s elbow she patted her lap gently. Preston fully understood and came to her side next to her chair, kneeling, resting his head on her lap. He gave a small whimper of pleasure as she caressed his forehead, and hearing her purr gently above him. His cheek was stroked as he watched the board, still brandishing the spinning spiral of black-and-white. He chuckled in his deep breathing, still realizing a few details, how the color of the spiral came from the color of the pieces. The loudest chuckle came from her first spoken words since he entered the apartment.
“How did it feel, playing with yourself, thinking of Sonia?”
Preston could have laughed himself to tears with her choice of words. He literally did just that, played with himself, mentally, physically, subconsciously psyching himself out just for the pleasure of inevitably surrendering to Sonia. He never got to laugh due to the light trance, and any sounds he made were reduced to moans as she teased his face and neck with her touches.
Sonia reached over to grasp the black queen of the board, sitting rightfully at the center of it. She brought it to her gaze, smiling at it, and then lowered it to Preston for him to admire. He gave the queen a kiss, reveling in his abject surrender to her.
“Good boy,” Preston heard, drifting off.