His Business - Her Pleasure

Its been quite a while since my last submission, so I hope you enjoy this long overdue narrative. This story plot lingered on my list for almost a year, but only emerged once I'd landed on a personal journey the main character needed to experience. The smut is detailed as always, and hopefully satisfying for you as a reader. I know it is for me.

Comments are always welcome, regardless of your view. Enjoy!!

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Carson woke suddenly as his seat belt jerked abruptly against his waistline, holding him firm in his seat. "Huh?... oh, turbulence," he said quietly. Seat 38F on American Airlines flight 631 was in the last row of the aircraft, where any slight bumps and dips noticed at the front of the plane felt more like small roller coasters back where he was seated.

He pulled the headphones from his ears, the dull roar of the engines replacing his music, then slid open the window and noticed the source of the rough ride; The thick cumulus clouds through which they were cruising paired below a brilliant blue sky above. The tantalizing, turquoise water of the Caribbean teased him from thirty thousand feet below, as he hurled along in the four hundred mile per hour metal tube.

He reinserted his earbuds and thought ahead to the purpose of his trip. The song Zen Island by Iration, replaced the engine noise and delivered a calm smile to his face. Hopefully his business engagements would conclude quickly and allow for some leisure time on this trip to Providinciales, the most well known island and the crown jewel of the Turks & Caicos Islands. Carson had made this journey three times in the previous eleven months, each time making progress on a lucrative business transaction. But so far, he had yet to have an opportunity to decelerate, put work aside and enjoy the beauty that his destination offered.

The majority of his fellow passengers were tourists, along with a smattering of families returning to their island home. While he wouldn't say the word out loud, he knew he was jealous. Older couples, setting out for break, looked relaxed and happy as they enjoyed a cocktail. Young couples, seemingly excited about the start of a honeymoon, were holding hands and whispering to one another, especially the mid twenties couple in seats 38D and E next to him.

And here he was; the forty something, single business traveler, adorned in slacks and a pressed shirt, blazer folded neatly in the overhead compartment above, his usual attire, so that he could still be dressed appropriate in the event his luggage was misplaced before business engagements started.

He tried unsuccessfully to coax himself back to sleep, instead simply daydreaming of sunshine, warm sand and blue sky.

The flight attendant began her last service walk beginning at his row, working forward. As she passed his row, Carson noted a string of giggles from his young neighbors, then overheard the young man mumble something, then, "...Okay, let's go." Following which, they unbuckled and slipped simultaneously into the lavatory behind him.

Carson rolled his eyes and chuckled out loud, certain that the two were out to earn admission to the mile high club, a fact confirmed by the thuds he could hear against the wall behind him, as elbows, knees or other body parts jockeyed for position in the tiny, four square foot space.

Not a minute later, the random thuds became a steady rhythm as the new groom was undoubtedly pounding himself into his willing bride. Carson closed his eyes, visualizing himself in the lavatory; pants gathered around his ankles, his swollen cock pumping in and out of a wet vulva, her backside ramming the wall with each thrust.

Carson's hand drifted discreetly to the bulge in his pants, then he removed it, lest anyone see him pleasuring himself. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on the drum beat behind him as their tempo increased further and further; then a pause, followed by a few more, stronger thuds, and he thought a hint of a moan that could be heard through the cabin wall. He was so focused on the sounds that he almost ejaculated in his slacks. Then a few moments of silence before the click of the door latch preceded the return of his seat neighbors, still panting. He looked casually in their direction and confirmed, by their devious smiles of satisfaction, that they had indeed achieved club membership.

Forty minutes later he deplaned, walking down the outdoor steps onto the tarmac for the circuitous route to the terminal building where British immigration authorities waited to verify his travel credentials and visually size him up for any suspicious traits. With the high volume of tourists making up the lion's share of the immigration queue, Carson was convinced that his single status and non-vacationer appearance invariably made officials perk up. They would ask more direct and probing questions, and in general treat him like a potential criminal. "Can't wait..." he thought.

As in past trips, a wave of inbound jets from the US all arrived within an hour or so of another, delivering a rush of passengers hustling to secure their checked baggage and scurry to the front of the line. Carson took his time. He'd landed on schedule, as had his luggage in his possession, so had plenty of time to stop at his hotel and still meet with his business counterparts late in the afternoon. The line for immigration was already filled with a couple of hundred travelers, and the queue now snaked ten or more rows back and forth before him. He slipped on his tan plaid blazer and took his place in line.

Ten steps past the first u-turn in the queue, Carson caught the eye of another passenger, an attractive woman around his age coming in his direction. She smiled politely, as strangers might when suddenly face to face as they were, but held eye contact with him as they walked past each other in opposite directions, pushed onward in the line. He wondered if she was a solo business traveler like him, a vacation traveler arriving separately from others, or neither. The thought faded as he plodded on.

At the next u-turn, she again made eye contact, this time from a farther distance away, discreetly leaning outward slightly to see around those in front of her. Carson smiled again, amused to himself at the childish game of peek-a-boo that was apparently now starting between them.

After the third turn, Carson thought he would initiative some conversation as they stood by each other, "At least they've got the air conditioning working. Three months ago it was miserable when I waited here." His new playmate responded, "We're lucky. It rarely works. I fly in several times per year, and always prepare for the worst." As she passed him, he noted the light, 3/4 sleeve silk blouse she wore, along with white, loose cotton pants and sandals. He discreetly looked back to observe her from behind, briefly taking in her mid length wavy brown hair, slender figure and shapely butt. He suppressed a smile at the visual.

Eight turns later, and the corresponding brief conversations as they passed one another, Carson had learned that she was there for pleasure not work and often traveled to the island to join her parents at their vacation home. She was not wearing a ring that indicated any attachments and was well-versed in island knowledge. This time she was arriving ahead of them by a couple of weeks to arrange for some planned repair work.

Her name was Serena.

He made it smoothly through the immigration checkpoint this time and emerged into the exit lobby, looking around to see if he could locate her again. Anyone watching him would have presumed he'd become separated from fellow travelers as he scoured the crowd around him in both directions, showing diligence that bordered on desperation. Serena undoubtedly would have seen this too as she called to him from behind, "Hey! Looking for someone?"

Startled and a little embarrassed, he turned and opted for transparency in his response, "Yeah. I was looking for you. I have a business engagement this afternoon, so need to get going quickly." It was as forward a statement as he could manage in the moment. A smile across his face invited her reaction to the admission.

Serena paused and looked confidently into Carson's expression. As a corresponding grin emerged on her lips as she replied, "It was fun chatting with you, Carson. Perhaps we could meet for a drink or something later today?"

She'd made an offer to meet, a familiar situation in Carson's life. She paused to let her invitation sink in.

"Sure. That sounds great. I'm staying at the Milano Resort, but can meet you anywhere you'd suggest, since you've got the better sense of the island."

"You can meet me at 6:30 at La Grotta. Its a nice bar I like." she said. It was an instruction more than a question. "Do you have a car?"

"No, I don't. Taxis only for me. I suck at this craziness of driving on the wrong side of the road!"

"Okay. Any island taxi will know how to get you there. See you there! Hope your meeting goes well today."

###

Carson's afternoon meeting served as a kickoff for more days of intense negotiations, and it was obvious he should expect a quick conclusion. It was productive nonetheless, and he returned to his hotel late afternoon, confident that the deal would work out. Simultaneously, in the back of his mind, his psyche teased him in anticipation of his evening plans with Serena.

In the world of relationships, Carson had long ago concluded that he was destined to live out his life as the eternal bachelor, albeit not exactly by choice.

He was attractive, as middle-aged men go, fit from countless hours spent running, his preferred physical activity. He was professionally successful and would be readily labeled a good catch by any future mother-in-law. He was charming without being effusive and enjoyed time with steady girlfriends, when they were present in his life.

The reason, Carson could honestly admit, was that when it came to relationships, he simply didn't try.

If a woman was interested in him, and confident enough to lead, he was a charming and lovable partner. Otherwise, when interpersonal action was needed or expected, he simply laid down on the job. He couldn't explain it, nor would he try to. He saw it as a character flaw that wasn't worth trying to fix. After all, his life was working out fine.

After returning to his hotel, He dropped his laptop bag on the desk then turned on the shower, seeking to refresh himself from a long day of travel and work. Naked, he stopped in front of the bathroom mirror to examine his image.

His prematurely gray hair had long been a staple in his appearance, and had even added a welcome, distinguished aura when he was younger. But now, cut short and paired with the crows' feet forming aside his eyes and growing love handles, he felt it aged him unrelentingly.

Otherwise, he was content with what the reflection offered back; his trim, athletic physique, an easy, welcoming face and, thankfully, his ample dick that presently hung flaccid between his thighs.

Standing in the hot water, he thought back to the younger couple on his flight, and how aroused he had been hearing their love making. On que, his manhood responded, beckoning his hand to take hold. Hot water streaming down his frame, Carson turned and leaned against the wall, resting his forehead against the tile surface for balance. Eyes closed, he reimagined the scene inside the airplane lavatory.

Picturing himself in the small, airborne space, an anxious pussy welcoming him, he stroked his dick slow and firmly. His hips flexed, urging his cock forward, then both hands gripping his rod.

He climaxed easily, building with force from that silent place deep inside of him, culminating with a buzz of pleasure, streams of cum splashing against the wet tile shower wall.

After drying, shaving and otherwise grooming himself, he realized his evening wardrobe options looked more like business attire, as he'd packed extra clothes hoping for time in the sun, not for an evening out.

Dress slacks and a short sleeve collared pullover would have to do. Hopefully, leaving the shirt untucked would qualify the ensemble as casual enough.

Taxis were queued up and waiting as he emerged from the resort hotel's lobby, and less than ten minutes later, Carson had exited his car and was approaching the hostess stand at the establishment Serena had recommended.

Looking around, he observed only a formal outdoor dining area, perfectly poised at the ledge of cliff overlooking the Caribbean. While a great setting, he'd expected an actual bar, and asked the hostess, "I was supposed to meet someone at the bar..." his voice trailing off, obviously confused at not seeing Serena nor a bar, per se.

"You can follow those stairs around the corner and down, sir. This is La Terrase. La Grotta is below us." She scowled slightly after answering, perhaps tired of reciting the same answer to the same question multiple times per evening.

###

Rounding the bottom curve of the steps, Carson took in a scene reminiscent of a James Bond film. This outdoor seating area was also perched next to the mysteriously blue Caribbean water, which was now darkened by the evening sky. Stark white treatments and furnishings were everywhere, from the marble floor and tables, to the string lighting above, which added a soft, inviting glow.

The bar area itself was also sparkling in all white, and set back deep into a large, naturally formed alcove in the coral cliff. "La Grotta...," Carson thought, understanding the name now. He recognized a smooth John Mayer song playing in the background, I Guess I Just Feel Like, adding to the cool vibe of the space.

At the far end of the row of bar chairs, perched next to an unoccupied spot, was Serena, seated with her back to the bar, a champagne flute in hand, observing either the crowd, the ripples floating across the water, or both. She had a clear view of the entire space, so she smiled and waved to Carson as he entered.

Her travel clothes had been replaced by a beige, lace dress, formal in length and with a high slit up the right side, perhaps intentionally opened for his viewing pleasure as he approached. Her tan skin was accentuated by the dress, her exposed leg luring him over to her. A simple gold chain, shimmering from the bar lights, was her only obvious accessory.

Normally, Carson might have been nervous, arriving at an impromptu date with a near total stranger. But for whatever reason, he was relaxed. He kept eye contact as he approached, took Serena's hand, leaned in and touched his cheek to hers in a pseudo kiss, then took the seat next to her, scooting his bar chair closer in the process.

"This is my favorite spot on the island for an evening cocktail. Its magical, don't you think?" She offered proudly.

"I'm impressed; and disappointed I hadn't discovered this place on my earlier trips." he replied, scanning the scene again. "Thank you for inviting me here! And for inviting me to begin with!"

Carson ordered a whiskey on ice as they talked further. Their conversation was energetic, even at times excited, as they exchanged insights and questions that helped each learn more about the other. Carson couldn't deny that their instant chemistry was beyond his expectations.

Serena told him the back story on her parents' long love affair with the island, and the creation of their dream vacation home after her father sold his successful manufacturing business. She came as often as possible, with or without her family. She provided only limited info on her relationship history, intentionally not elaborating beyond the fact that she had divorced her husband years earlier.

Carson was happy to learn that she was not presently in a relationship, and found her to be a mature, forthright woman, plus something of an old soul, which he enjoyed.

For his part, Carson talked as much about his career and professional interests as personal topics. At a point, he realized he might be boring his companion, so he adjusted to focus more on Serena. It was a turning point in the night, as she frequently touched him on the hand, arm or leg while they talked, exuding a natural affection that he welcomed.

They exchanged phone numbers so they could keep in touch while Carson remained on the island.

Two hours, several appetizers and a bottle of chardonnay later, Carson paid their tab, that is after her initial insistence that she pay, as the instigator of their outing. As they left their seats, Serena took his hand. "Come with me, there's a little pier that pokes out into the water that you can't see from the bar," she beckoned. Holding Carson's hand, she led him down another small staircase to a waterside landing, then around a darkened stone walkway where a short, forty foot wood pier extended into the black water. It was completely unlit, but Serena seemed to know her way, as she pulled him out onto the structure, turning to face him midway out from the shoreline.

Without warning, and by surprise to Carson in the darkness, Serena's hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him slowly, mouth open, her tongue teasing, soft "mm's" of approval drifting out of her. Carson pulled her closer, the curves of their bodies forming to the other as they embraced. The evening breeze was light, and he noticed the sounds of water lapping against the pier below him.

While Carson had never been inclined to have romantic sentiments, it was the most intimate moment with a woman he could recount. As though tunnel vision had overcome him, he could only sense the soft wetness of her mouth, the touch of her hand, the soothing sounds of her soft moans. When Serena eventually broke off their kiss, he was speechless, standing dumbfounded in the dark, his hand still on her waist.

"Its late, we should go," Serena instructed. Then, like before, she led him around the dark pathway, back up both stair cases, past the restaurant and to the front of the building, stopping in route as Serena asked the hostess to summon a taxi. Head spinning, Carson just followed.

A vacant taxi was already parked out front as they emerged. "I'll take this one, Carson," she declared. "I know you have an early start to your work tomorrow, but do you mind waiting for the next one?"

"Well,... okay..." He answered hesitantly. While he hadn't planned or assumed that they might continue their intimate moment elsewhere, Carson was not prepared for her to call a halt to the evening so abruptly. He stood motionless, trying his best not to look like a scolded schoolboy.

Sensing his reaction, Serena stepped closer, taking both his hands between hers. "This has been a lovely evening Carson; unexpected really. I'd like it we could spend time together again tomorrow evening, if you don't have other commitments. You can come to my parents' house first, and we can set out from there. OK?"

Carson took the initiative and kissed her in response, not as sensuously as earlier, but purposefully enough for her to sense his intent. "I'd like that very much." He said. "Text me your address and when you'd like me to come." Serena nodded in acknowledgment and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek before turning and walking to the taxi.

Soon after, back at his hotel via his own taxi, Carson was too wound up to retire to his room. He detoured instead to his hotel's outdoor bar and ordered a beer, keeping it easy with business obligations to start the next day. He paid no attention to the other couples around him, instead mentally rewinding through his evening with Serena.

In a word, he was captivated. She was attractive certainly, but their instant chemistry, and the extended kiss on the pier left him craving more. He replayed the moments over one more beer before heading off to get some much needed sleep before the next day's negotiations. During his night, he woke several times to thoughts of Serena, with each occurrence resulting in a hard cock in his hand, followed by a puddle of warm cum on his stomach.