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.
