Certainty

I love those moments - so rare in life - when you know with every cell in your body that something, anything, is going to happen. You're about to sign for the mortgage on your dream house (and can't believe they approved you). You walk out of a job interview knowing you've aced it. And my favourite of all: You've just met someone, you're tingling just because you're sitting next to them, and you know - better than you know your own name - that you're going to fuck them, and that it's going to be amazing.

I was working on a project which had a mixed bag of international participants, and for whatever bizarre reason, for the position I had, I was required abroad, while in my home town another person, from yet another country, took my place. My colleagues were a jolly, geeky bunch, and the boss a ball of insane energy - all highly entertaining. In any event, even though I wasn't currently needed in the project, I was invited to the group dinner when they had my replacement over, and accepted with delight - I love fine dining, and the hotel the dinner was hosted in - one of those places with ridiculously high ceilings and black walls - is renowned for its cuisine. I was also fascinated to meet my counterpart, whose career I had coveted for many years - just to see what he was like and what he had to say about our industry, if anything.

So I roll up at the hotel, in my favourite "look at my pert little butt" suit pants and a little blazer - both from Paris - and cutesy flat brogues (I sometimes enjoy cross-dressing like an insane little CEO/ Maitre'd, because in my line of work it's not expected), smelling subtly of Eau Kenzo and delighted that I have fresh, strawberry-blonde highlights in my hair. I'm introduced to my counterpart (let's just call him B, for short), register his height with great delight, note that shaking his hand is far more exciting that such an activity usually is, and somehow when everyone trails into the dining room, we end up sitting together.

I don't remember that much about the dinner. I know that I drank a little too much wine, and that I ate risotto with Parmesan, and went into paroxysms of delight over the cheese, which is one of my favourite things. Mainly, though, I was transfixed by the person to my right, and the delicious food and wine were a poor substitute for what I would much rather have had in my mouth but which was, for now, trapped most unfortunately inside his pants. We didn't talk all that much; we were polite and demure, and then shared an utterly delicious dessert which incorporated, if I remember correctly, pistachio and orange ice cream. Neither of us could figure out what it was, until I hit upon it, and he was impressed at my picking out the flavours and had to agree that I was right.

After dinner, some of the younger people, including myself, repaired to the bar for drinks. I lamented my sore back. Our only other colleague left, and B and I were left in the bar. He started to give me a massage, and said he hadn't done it when our colleague was around because he didn't want to appear pervy. Anyhow, we drained our vodkas and made a date for the next day - I offered to show him around the city, because although he'd been here before, nobody had really taken him out. I went home knowing in my bones that we were going to fuck, even though we had barely touched, bar the massage, and hadn't flirted at all.

Next evening, I'm at his hotel at the appointed time, and we're both wearing long dark coats, which is amusing and makes us feel like characters out of the Matrix. We attempt to go to the cinema, but the lines are long and full of people who seem terribly obnoxious and dumpy, so we opt for drinking, and go to a lovely hotel bar near the river. As luck would have it, a snug is free, and the waiter ushers us in there, smiling bashfully. Do we already look like we're fucking?! We have still barely touched. Anyway, we order sea breezes and eat chips and talk about travelling and enjoy being in the snug, away from prying eyes, and suddenly his finger is ever so gently stroking my inner arm. Mmmmm. I savour that for a minute, and place a hand on his knee; I turn my face up to his, and he inclines his face ever so slightly to my right; but I want to be in control, a little bit, because I'm in that sort of a mood, and I reach up to cup his jaw in my right hand and drag his face close to mine and we are kissing, and it's wonderful and sometimes people walk past the door of the snug (closing it would have felt too obvious, or furtive, or something) and my hand is on his stomach, and his chest, playing with his nipples, skimming his soft hot skin.

"Where did you learn to be so sexy?" he murmurs into my ear. I just smile. I know I look all demure and proper, but that's the main appeal of Capricorns. He strokes down my leg and pulls my foot out of my sandal and plays with it, and I kiss him some more. We pull apart, and sip our drinks. He goes to get another drink, and I refuse another one; I'm already slightly whizzy in the head, and don't need any more whizziness, because I'm still at the stage when I can feel my body.

I don't know about you, but when I'm fucking I like to feel everything that's going on.

We drink and kiss some more and decide to leave the bar. Without talking about it, we head back to his hotel, holding hands; only when we're at the bridge crossing the river does he formally ask me if I want to come back to his room. We mug in the lift mirror, and go into his room; we take of our coats and sit on the couch and start to kiss. I pull the little clip that's holding my hair up in its demure, proper chignon, and throw it somewhere, so that he can push me back onto the couch; my hands tangle in his hair, we grind and writhe together, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

And now I really have to pee, from that sea breeze. Damn.

I extricate myself, and go to the bathroom, and while I'm there, I wash my dripping pussy just in case, though I think we're probably going to roll about on the couch a lot more before we get to the bed. I look at myself in the mirror. Sex hair, but face not drunk or crazy-looking - check. I'm not actually drunk, I realise now that I'm on my own; it's just that being near B makes me all dizzy and crazy-feeling. Why, how wonderful! I'm truly a cheap date. I emerge from the bathroom and make some joke about the sea breeze, which he replies to with some crack about how in that case I'm not responsible for my actions, but I insist that I'm perfectly aware of everything that's going on, and suddenly we're more serious, and kiss a little more in a different, more intense, urgent way, but only a little, and suddenly he has scooped me up in his arms and is stumbling across the suite to his bed.

I firmly maintain that being carried to the bed has to be one of the yummiest things in existence. It makes me feel dominated, utterly in the hands of the person doing the carrying. Maybe it satisfies my inner damsel in distress.

Well, once I'm deposited on the bed, we kiss some more, and I keep running my hands under his shirt, feeling the beautiful soft skin on his stomach and back and chest - how I want it pressed to mine! - and then we take off my trousers, and he - still fully clothed, the tease - neatly pulls the fabric of my thong to one side, and slowly begins administrating soft, gentle little licks to my clitoris. I am in heaven; his tongue is divine, my body is tingling all over just from the excitement of being near him, and his tongue feels like three tongues dancing around my vulva. His licks grow stronger and bolder, I writhe under his face, and arch my back, arms stretched above my head. Suddenly, to my surprise, I'm coming, and he is eating my orgasm, and I am shocked, electrically. He pulls away from my pussy and kisses up and down my inner thighs, aching, burning, stabbing kisses. He looks up at me with unfocussed eyes and sits up. I sit up, too, and kiss him, breathlessly, and begin to pull his shirt over his head so I can feel his yummy skin. He finishes the job for me and I take off my shirt, still in bra and thong. We kiss and stroke and the trousers come off and I feel the hot long silky length of his body against mine and I am so hungry for more, more, more. We lie side by side, kissing, and I gently push him back and kiss my way down his chest and abdomen.

What a beautiful cock greets me. I still hadn't seen it until now, just felt its outline in his trousers, and, given that I didn't have all that many precedents for trouser-feeling cocks and subsequently comparing them unclothed, I hadn't dared guess what it might be like. It is fat and pretty, standing up happily, in a trimmed bed of hair, a good solid size, and so delicious-looking I can't not taste it. I lick it very gently with the tip of my tongue, from base to tip, and it quivers a little; on a whim, I decide to tongue-bathe his balls and immediately feel his body tense up with pleasure. I tease first one, then the other, with soft, long, gentle licks. I could play with them forever and want to tease each one in turn by sucking, but the cock is irresistible, and I begin my journey up to its tip with my tongue, flat against the smoothly veined underside. I snake up and down, and up, and up, and up, licking hard, then take the head into my mouth, sucking gently and flickering my tongue around the head. So delicious. I want it inside me so bad. It's hard and sweet and velvety. I take his whole length into my mouth and slowly move up and down, twisting my head in figure eights, and then he pulls me away and kisses me and dives into my pussy again. I'm insanely wet, dripping with the idea of having his cock buried in me.

"I have a condom." he says quietly, getting up.
"Good!" I whisper, lying back with one knee up. He rummages and returns with a condom, rips the wrapper off, sheathes his cock, kisses me again, and kneels down between my legs. I raise my trembling hips to his and he inches his cock into me; we gasp at each others' tightness and hardness and wetness and width and he pulls out and dips in further and pulls out and dips in, in, in, and he is embedded in me and I twist my arms and legs around him and fuck him from below, pressing the front of my pussy downwards on each outstroke so that his cock is gripped firmly between my pubic bone and perineal wall. We move together, gasping, and get entirely lost in each others' bodies. My brain takes a cigarette break and I am all body, all flesh, suffused with delight and energy and sex and deliciousness and I come again, everything around me disappeared, nothing in my universe except for his cock and my cunt. I get my breath back and keep fucking him, not missing a beat.
"You nearly made me come when you were sucking me," he breathes into my ear.
"Good!" I whisper, smiling mischievously. We kiss each others' smiles and he breaks away from me and goes back into my pussy with his face. It is delicious torment; my cunt aches with emptiness and throbs in the afterglow of being filled and coming, and my clitoris doesn't know what hit it. He aims for my g-spot with a finger and I'm so stimulated I can't really tell what's going on down there, except that I completely lose it and cum round his finger, clenching and clenching and clenching. He does the inner thigh kissing thing again and each kiss makes my pussy clench shut like a beartrap; I'm partly satisfied but still aching and hungry for his cock.
He scoots up to me and kisses me.
"Can you taste yourself?" he smiles into my mouth. I laugh and nod and he's inside me again, and we're fucking and laughing and I pull my leg way up and out to the side with my hand because there's no wall to brace my foot against, and he's even deeper inside me and stabbing and stabbing and my puss clenches in orgasm again with the new stimulation. Finally he comes inside the condom inside me, and we have to stop fucking, and we lie there panting, completely spent. He goes to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and comes back to bed and I lie on his arm, and we giggle and talk about sex and nothing and he asks me questions and I tell him vague, veiled things, and he strokes my body with the backs of his nails and I shiver and arch my back and we start to kiss again and I kiss his cock up and down, and take it, filling, into my mouth, gently moving up and down, and he gets another condom and somehow pulls me up off the bed so that before I know it I'm on hands and knees at its edge and he's standing behind me, pumping, in and out and in and out and in and in and out and in and out and deeper in, and my pulse is racing and all the blood rushes out of my head and how can each stroke feel new? how can we repeat the same thing over and over again, and it's newly fascinating five times a second? These questions have no answers, and he tries to drive us to simultaneous orgasm but it's too much for me and I come before he does, and he is sucked into orgasm by my clenching cunt.

As befits a one-night stand, I don't stay the night - we have to work the next morning anyway - but we arrange to meet the next afternoon.