Misha & Misty V
Misha is bored. She runs a hand through her wild red hair, turning to look at me with a wicked, calculating glint in her green eyes.
"Join me for chess," she says, her voice raspy but laced with a sudden, sharp energy.
"Board games! Seriously! Bored games!"
"Uh, uh, not with me, honey," Misha announces, taking my hand, Wednesday afternoon and swinging it to the university club meeting.
"Time for experienced you to meet Jake and Brad, who are probably trying to memorise opening moves. Poor virgins. They think they know how to play, but they have no idea what real play involves."
I'm hauled up three flights of stairs.
Misha laughs, hooking her arm through mine.
"We're going to teach them a new variation. Queens are more powerful than kings, Misty. And today, we're going to show them exactly what happens when a Queen decides to occupy the square."
The closer we get to the Student Union centre, the more my apprehension mixes with a dark, curious excitement.
Misha's confidence is infectious; she radiates a raw, predatory energy that makes me feel bold and reckless.
The chess room is quiet, smelling of old carpet and floor wax. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. In the corner of the large room, two figures sit hunched over a chessboard. Jake and Brad.
They look up as we enter, their eyes widening behind their thick glasses.
Well, our tummies have short tops and the 'tramp' tats are visible.
"Misha? Misty?" Jake stammers, knocking his knight.
Misha strides over to the table. She doesn't sit. Instead, she plants her hands on the edge of the table and leans forward, looming over him.
"We're women who know what they want, Jake. And right now, we want to play."
She sweeps her arm across the board, sending chess pieces flying in every direction.
Pawns and bishops clatter to the floor.
"Hey!" Brad protests, standing up.
"Quiet, Brad," Misha snaps, then turns to me, her eyes dancing.
"Come here, sis. It's time for a tutorial on the diagonal."
I step up to Brad, who looks terrified yet utterly unable to look away.
I can see the bulge growing in his pants. It's cute, in a pathetic sort of way. I reach out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, and pull him close.
"Misha's right," I whisper, leaning in so my breath ghosts over his lips.
"We're going to mate you. But not with pawns."
Misha has already manhandled Jake into his chair. She climbs onto the table, right on the surface where the board used to be, and swings her leg over Jake's head, planting her boots on the armrests.
She pulls her jeans down, exposing the fresh "Tramp" tattoo.
"Kiss it," she instructs.
He does.
"Open your mouth, nerd," she commands, her voice dropping to a sultry growl.
"I'm not asking."
Her jeans are below her knees. Her knickers stretched across her thighs.
Jake is between hesitation and action. His fingers twitch. His cock in his pants flexes.
Misha doesn't wait. She lowers herself, her thighs locking around his head like a vice. I hear the wet slap of her slick slit against his face, followed immediately by a muffled groan from Jake as she begins to grind.
She grinds in that nympho porn girly way. The complete grind. The feral grind. The grind that will amp the pleasure barometer.
"Fuck yeah," Misha hisses, her head falling back.
"Spit in my pit. Get your tongue in there. Ah! Ah! Like that, yes! Ah! Ah!"
Watching them sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I look at Brad, who is watching Misha with his mouth open.
I grab his ear, forcing his attention back to me.
"My turn," I say, pushing him back into his chair.
I mimic Misha, kicking my sneakers off and climbing up, positioning my knees on the armrests. I pull my jeans down, exposing my swollen, sensitive pussy to his hungry gaze.
My crinkly pleated pieces glisten like a licked pink lollipop.
"Are you ready for my throne, Brad?" I ask, my voice trembling with anticipation.
"Yes," he breathes, his hands coming up to rest on my hips.
"Good. Because I'm going to fucking drown you in juices."
I drop my weight onto his face. His nose presses against my clit, and his tongue immediately darts out, lapping at the wetness.
The sensation of total control, of using him for nothing but my pleasure, is intoxicating. I grind down hard, smothering him, feeling his breath hot against my inner thighs.
I hustle my thighs, securing his skull. I flex my thighs in an aggressive, locking, cradle. My grinding snuggles my pussy into his mouth. My flaps meet his fondling tongue.
His tongue tip pets my clit. My thighs muffle his face, leaving only space for his lapping, lapping tongue.
The room fills with the sounds of wet, sloppy sex.
Slurping, gagging, the heavy breathing of the boys, and the moans of my sister and me.
"Oohh!"
"Aahh!"
Her.
Me.
Separate.
Together.
We are positioned diagonally across from each other, two Queens ruling the board, reducing the Kings to nothing more than furniture.
"Look at him, Misty," Misha gasps, her eyes locked on mine.
She's riding Jake's face hard, her hips rolling in a ruthless rhythm.
A surging, swaying, tossing, rolling of hips.
Perfect face sitting pressure.
"Look how desperate he is for it. He loves being a fucking seat."
I look down at Brad. His eyes are squeezed shut; his brow furrowed in concentration as he devours me.
I give him and me just enough room to see the action.
His tongue is probing my entrance, fucking me in shallow thrusts.
Dib and dab. Pat and tap. Swirl and circle. He's quickly on his way to being a natural.
I grab his hair, pulling him tighter against me, grinding my coochie onto his mouth until I can feel his teeth grazing my lips.
"Eat me," I moan, the words tearing out of me.
"Fucking eat my gash, you little dork. Make me cum all over your face."
The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil in my stomach. The visual of Misha—head thrown back, red hair wild, dominating her prey—pushes me higher.
This is better than any chess game.
This is checkmate.
"I'm close," Misha whimpers, her thighs quivering around Jake's head.
I grind harder on Brad, using his nose for friction, riding the edge of total bliss.
"Me too," I pant. "Oh fuck, Brad, right there. Don't move your tongue. Just let me use you."
We cum almost simultaneously.
"Orrghhhh!"
Misha screams, a raw, primal sound, her body seizing up as she gushes over Jake's face.
I clamp my thighs around Brad's head, my back arching as my peak rips through me.
"Aahhh!"
I shudder, soaking his mouth and chin, my fluids dripping down his neck.
I slump forward, resting my hands on Brad's shoulders, my pussy still pressed against his mouth.
He gently laps at me, cleaning up the drips, sending petite secondary trills through my body.
Misha lifts herself slightly off Jake, looking down at him with purry satisfaction.
His face is shiny and red, gasping for air.
She chuckles, wiping a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Checkmate," she breathes, looking over at me with a filthy grin.
I slide off Brad, my legs weak, and lean against the table.
"I think," I say, looking at the two wrecked boys and my triumphant stepsister, "we need to play this version of chess, where the Queen wins, more often."