The Business Trip
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2018 by Unca D

Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A character-driven romance: Darren and Marcia are colleagues travelling together to attend a business conference. Staying at the same hotel their working relationship deepens into friendship and then romance. Each confesses to the other unhappy and loveless marriages. Drawn together they start making love. Afterward they return to their respective spouses. Their workplace roles are disrupted by Marcia's jealous and violent husband, and she turns again to Darren for solace.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Cheating   Oral Sex   Safe Sex  

Darren sat in his aisle seat. He pulled out his phone and checked the time; then he pressed keys to put the device into Airplane Mode and then powered it down. He slipped it back into his pocket. The flight attendant walked down the aisle closing overhead bins.

He saw a slim woman of medium height step into the cabin. She consulted her ticket stub and headed down the aisle. Her eyes caught his and she smiled.

Darren stepped into the aisle and she sat in the window seat. “Marcia,” he said, “I was afraid we’d leave without you.”

“It’s been one helluva day for me,” she replied. “I couldn’t decide on a wardrobe. Then Rob got all snitty...”

“Snitty?”

“Yeah -- he doesn’t want me taking this trip and he refused to drive me to the airport. So, I called a cab. Be there in fifteen minutes, they said. Right -- more like forty-five. I barely missed the check-in deadline by five minutes and then got the enhanced pat-down and search at the checkpoint. I just hope my bag gets on board.”

“Do you usually have this sort of luck when you travel?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then, I’m going to change your login to be BlackCloud.”

“Very funny. I hate flying, Darren. I really hate it.”

“What’s to hate? Mile for mile it’s safer than driving.”

“I know ... but if you exclude the miles in the air and just count the miles taking off and landing...”

“I hate the hassle of getting on the plane, but once I’m on it, I enjoy the experience. Fasten your belt,” Darren said as he pulled his tight. The aircraft doors closed and the plane pushed back from the gate. Darren glanced toward Marcia. She headed the technology team for the accounting department -- one of Rebecca’s direct reports. Marcia was in her early thirties, though she looked younger. She had an oval face with a high and broad forehead, high cheekbones and a perky, turned-up nose. Her chin receded slightly and her mouth was broad with a bit of an overbite and medium lips. She was a brunette; her hair streaked with lighter highlights and cut in a shaggy style above shoulder length. She had gray eyes that had a tint of green in them and she had patches of faint freckles on either side of her nose.

The jetliner taxied to the runway. Marcia closed her eyes and clenched her fists as the craft gained speed, lifted off and nosed up, the force of its acceleration pushing Darren into his seat. Marcia jumped at the sounds of the landing gear and flaps retracting.

Soon the airplane settled into a gentle climb toward its cruising altitude. Darren glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

Marcia drew in a breath and released it. “I’m okay now.” She rested her head against the inside of the fuselage and closed her eyes. Darren removed a flight magazine from the seat pocket and began perusing it.

The attendant pushed the refreshment cart down the aisle. Darren nudged Marcia. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Oh ... ice water I guess.”

“Ginger ale for me and ice water,” he told the attendant. He handed a plastic cup to Marcia and the attendant set tiny bags of pretzels on the tray tables. “Look at this,” he remarked, holding up his cup. “I always order ginger ale because not many passengers do. They used to leave the whole can with me, but no longer. The airlines aren’t going to give their customers a break, even if it amounts to nickels.”

“I always order water,” she replied. “The carbonation bothers me.”

The flight droned on toward Chicago and then began its descent. The pilots deployed the flaps and Marcia grabbed Darren’s forearm. “I think a wheel just fell off,” he said to her. Then, the landing gear extended and locked into place with a thud. “There goes a wing.”

“Don’t even joke about it!” She squeezed his forearm in a white-knuckled grip, her eyes clamped shut. The plane drew closer to the runway, touched down, bounced once and braked. Darren felt her grip on his arm relax. “Just think,” he remarked, “we get to repeat this on the leg to Saint Louis.”


Darren escorted Marcia through the jetway. He followed signs to the baggage claim and they stood by the carousel. “Now for the moment of truth,” she remarked. “Did my bag make it on board?”

The belt began turning. A royal blue valise was the first down the chute. “Look at that,” she said.

“Is that yours?”

“Yep.”

“Last on, first off,” he mused.

Marcia reached for the bag and grasped it by the side handle. At the same time a young man gripped it by its end. “Hey!” she exclaimed, tugging at the bag. “This is my bag.”

“It’s mine,” the man replied and tugged back.

“Does yours have a purple pom-pom tied to the handle?”

He looked at the bag and released his grip. Marcia fell backward, landing hard on the base of her spine, the bag in her lap. “Asshole!” she called toward the man as he picked up another royal-blue case similar to hers.

“Bitch!” He extended the handle and wheeled his bag away.

Darren helped her to stand. “Are you all right?”

She rubbed the base of her spine. “Nothing broken...”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Shit!” She regarded a gash in her finger. “There are some tissues in my purse...”

Darren removed a pack from her purse and handed her one. She wrapped it around her finger. “You must’ve caught it on a sharp part of the carousel.”

“Yeah ... must’ve.”

Darren grabbed his bag. “Let’s see if we can get a bandage at the travelers’ aid kiosk. Marcia held her thumb against the tissue and dragged her bag. He returned from the kiosk. “She said we’d need to buy some at the news stand. You don’t have any in your purse, do you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Wait here.”

He returned with a pack of Band-Aids and unwrapped one. “Hold out your finger...” He wrapped the bandage around it. “Better?”

“I’ll live.”

He smiled. “Looks like the enchantment continues.”

“Did you reserve a rental car?” she asked.

“I figured we’d take a cab.” He gestured toward the door marked, Ground Transportation. “Marriott Grand Hotel,” he told the dispatcher, who gestured a cab from the waiting line.

Their bags in the trunk, Darren and Marcia sat in the back seat. “Tell me,” she said, “what else can go wrong?”

“It’s been my experience that there’s only one way things can go right but an infinite way things can go wrong,” he replied.

“As we’ve seen. What’s our game plan?”

“We meet with Elaine tomorrow for a presentation and a tour of DxT’s data center. Tomorrow night is the welcome reception for the DxT Systems Users’ Conference. We’ll get an opportunity to meet folks currently using this product. Wednesday is the conference banquet and Thursday afternoon we’re outta here.”

“And, tonight?”

“We’re on our own,” he replied. “I thought we could ask the concierge for dining recommendations. Then, early to bed and early to rise.” He looked at her hand. “How’s the finger?”

“Still throbbing. It has stopped bleeding, though. I can’t believe that jerk, getting into a tug-of-war with me. Sometimes I hate people.”

The cab stopped by the hotel’s main entrance. Darren paid the fare and kept a receipt. A doorman carried their bags to the front desk.

“Did you get checked in okay?” he asked Marcia as she stepped away from the desk.

“Amazingly, yes. I was prepared to hear they couldn’t find my reservation and the place was overbooked so I’d need to stay at that Comfort Inn we passed on the interstate.”

“Maybe your luck is changing. I’m in room 517.”

“I’m in 623.”

“Let’s get settled,” he suggested. “I have some emails and correspondence to catch up on. It’s three-thirty, now. Why don’t we meet in the lobby at six? I’ll scope out dining.”

“Okay.” They rode the elevator to the fifth floor. Darren dragged his bag into the corridor and the elevator doors closed.


Darren sat at his laptop reviewing email. He heard a knock at his door. “Yes?” he called.

“It’s me -- Marcia.” He opened the door and she stepped in wearing a blue, one-piece bathing suit, wire-framed glasses and a towel wrapped around her waist. “Darren -- I did something really stupid. I went to use the pool and left my passcard in my room.”

“Come in -- you can call the front desk. I’m sure they can issue you a replacement.”

“Thanks...” She stepped into his room and he closed and bolted the door. Marcia picked up the phone. “This is Marcia Barnett. I’m in room 623 ... That’s right. I need a new passcard ... Can’t someone bring me one? Right now I’m in room 517. Thanks.” She hung up the phone. “They said I could go to the front desk for one but I’m not traipsing around the lobby like this.”

“And?”

“He said someone would bring one right up.”

“Okay,” he said. She sat on his sofa and crossed her legs. Darren regarded her from behind his laptop. He pointed two fingers towards his eyes. “What’s with?”

“I took my contacts out to go swimming,” she replied.

He nodded. “I didn’t even realize you wore them.” He continued to regard her.

“You’re making me uncomfortable, the way you’re looking at me,” she said.

“I’m sorry -- I won’t if it bothers you.”

“Thank you.”

“You are a pretty girl, Marcia,” he replied.

“That makes me uncomfortable, too.”

“I’m simply stating the truth. You are pretty.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a girl. I’m thirty-one.”

“You’re a pretty woman, then. You look younger -- like twenty-five, tops.”

“I know I have a youthful face,” she replied.

“You do. Your face looks like it belongs on a teenager. I know what it is -- it’s the freckles.”

“Oh, God ... I hate my freckles and I’ve tried everything to get rid of them.”

“I think they add to your youthful appearance. Maybe that’s why I said you’re a pretty girl.”

“You wouldn’t mistake me for a teenager,” she replied.

“You do look young, Marcia. The years have been kind to your face.”

“The years haven’t been so kind to the rest of me.”

“Well -- I’m forty-two and that makes you young enough to be a girl in my book. But -- if you don’t like it; then, you’re a woman.”

“Thank you,” she said tartly.

“A pretty one ... who fills out a swimsuit nicely.”

She folded her arms and held her shoulders. “I don’t like feeling exposed in front of people I work with.”

“What if I had put on a pair of trunks and used the pool, too?”

“I probably would’ve stayed in the water, neck deep ‘til you left.” She looked into his eyes. “Darren -- please end this line of conversation. I find it unwelcome.”

“Understood.” Darren opened his suitcase and removed a white dress shirt. “Cover up with this.” Marcia slipped into it, buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. She folded the towel she had around her waist and set it on the arm of the sofa. “I’ll bet you could go to the lobby dressed like that.”

“No way.”

Darren returned to his email. Marcia walked to his window and looked out. “I’m on the other side of the building,” she remarked. “You have a better view from here.” He scanned the backs of her legs -- they were smooth and taut. Marcia turned around and his gaze flicked back to his laptop.

She sat on the bed. “You have a king. My room has two full-sized.”

He looked at the time. “How long will it take you to get ready for dinner?” he asked. “It’s five-thirty, now.”

“I’m good ... if I could get into my room, that is.” She walked back-and-forth in front of his sofa. Darren regarded her as she paced. “You’re looking at my legs, now.”

“They’re nice legs,” he replied.

She sat on the sofa and covered them with the towel. “How much longer for that damned card?”

“Call again.”

She picked up the phone. “Yes ... This is Marcia Barnett. I called earlier about a pass card...” She listened and her jaw dropped. “No -- I’m not in room 623 ... I’ve been assigned room 623 but I’m locked out. Right now I am standing in room 517 ... I can’t come to the lobby -- I’m not ... presentable. Thank you.” she hung up the receiver. “I can’t believe it. Someone brought the card to my room. They knocked and when no one answered they slid it under the door.”

Darren composed and sent another email message. “Maybe we should change our dinner plans,” he said. “It’s nearly six. I’ll call the concierge.”

A knock came at his door. He opened it and a bellman handed him an envelope. “Ah -- your card,” he said and handed it to her.

Marcia took it. “I’ll be right down with your shirt,” she said and headed out the door. He heard the elevator at the end of the corridor.

Shortly he heard a knock on his door. He opened it and saw Marcia, still in his shirt, her lips pursed. “It doesn’t work!”

“It won’t open your door?” He took the card. “I wonder...” He slipped the card into his own door’s latch and it snapped open.

“What -- do they hire only idiots here?” she asked.

“I cannot believe the trouble you’re having,” he replied. “It’s almost funny.” She glowered at him. “No, it’s not funny at all. I think the only way to resolve this is to speak with the manager on duty.” He picked up his phone and punched zero. “Yes -- the manager on duty, please. Thanks.” He held the phone and glanced at the ceiling. “I see. Thanks.” He set down the handset. “There is no manager on duty ‘til eight tonight.”

“What a way to run a hotel!” she exclaimed.

“Why don’t we scrap plans to go out and instead order from room service?” He took the menu from the desk. By then the M.O.D. should be available and we can get this fixed ... and maybe even an adjustment on your room rate.

She scanned the menu. “My God -- I’m not accustomed to spending this much on dinner.”

“It’s on an expense account. Dinner tomorrow and Wednesday are covered by the conference. So -- go wild.”

“Would the poached salmon be too decadent?”

“Not at all. I was looking at the prawns. How about a bottle of wine?”

She bit her lip. “Would that be okay?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“We’re not supposed to put liquor on our expense accounts. Kirk’s orders -- he’s a tea-totaler.”

“We’ll put it on mine, then,” he replied. “Mine isn’t subject to scrutiny by your bean counters. It goes on my invoice to Kirk under general expenses, so he pays for it anyway.”

“So, it’s sort of like laundering the expense account,” she remarked.

“Sort of.” He picked up the phone and placed the order.

“I’m sorry about being such a pill earlier,” she said. “I was wound pretty tight ... I still am.”

“Well -- I am making a mental note -- Do NOT travel with Marcia Barnett.” She held her forehead and turned from him. “Hey -- I’m only teasing.” He approached her. “I’m sorry ... you are wound tight, aren’t you?”

“This trip came at a bad time for me,” she replied. “I know I have to do the job I’m paid to do -- and if that means, get on a plane and check out a new accounting system then that’s what I have to do. Rob just doesn’t understand.”

“What does your husband do?” Darren asked.

“He’s a machinist ... a good one. He works for Grayden Foundries. His idea of job loyalty is to punch in at seven, out at three and collect a paycheck. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be a professional.”

“How long have you been with Walnut Street Capital?” he asked.

“A little over a year. Before that I was with American Bank. My hours were more like...”

“Like bankers’ hours?”

She smiled. “Yeah -- like that.”

“You have a pretty smile, Marcia. A toothy one but a pretty one. I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No ... I guess I haven’t had too many reasons to use it lately.”

There was a rap at the door. “Room service.”

Marcia sat on the sofa, crossed her legs and tugged at the hem of the shirt Darren had loaned her. He opened the door and a bellman wheeled in a cart. He removed domes from the dinner plates and pulled the cork from a bottle of Chablis. Darren surveyed the setting. He picked up the check, signed it and added a tip. “Good evening, folks,” the bellman said, “enjoy your dinners.” He turned and left.

Darren cleared his laptop from the table and set the plates, flatware and glasses on it. He made a hand gesture toward a chair and then sat. Marcia joined him across the table. “This is good,” she remarked after swallowing a piece of her salmon. “I love the wine.”

“Maybe this is better than going out,” Darren remarked.

She picked up a bud vase and sniffed its single, red rose. “Nice fragrance.”

“Take that back to your room,” he replied.

“I will.” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I was hungry -- that never helps my mood.”

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded. “I am.”

“How’s your finger?”

“Better.” She uncovered another plate holding a portion of creme brulee. Darren poured coffee from a carafe. “How does your marriage survive it?” Marcia asked him. “You must be on the road all the time.”

“Not so much these days,” he replied. “In fact, I think this is going to be my last, long-term road assignment. I only took it because of Ray MacNeil. Do you know him?”

“Everybody at Walnut Street knows Dr MacNeil,” she replied. “He’s Rebecca’s fiance and personnel consultant to the firm.”

“He was my roommate in college,” Darren replied. “I guess some pillow talk between your accounting head and your personnel consultant resulted in a phone call to me. He told me your firm needed help acquiring new accounting software. It looks like a six-month gig.”

“How often do you get home?”

“Weekends, if I can,” he replied. “Stephanie is pretty self-reliant. I think she likes it when I’m gone. I’m just getting too old to enjoy it anymore -- living out of a suitcase, that is. In fact, once this conference is over I’m headed home for the weekend. I’ll be back in time for the final decision-making rounds next week.”

“I really hope we like what they’re showing us this week.”

“DxT Systems is our finalist,” he replied. “It’s not our job to be impressed with what they show us. Just remember -- if a salesman isn’t making his product look like the greatest invention since the ham sandwich, then he’s not doing his job. It doesn’t matter if he’s selling accounting software or aluminum siding. It’s our job to learn every reason why we DON’T want to buy it.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

“Those will be the gaps we’ll need to fill. If there are too many of them -- it’s back to the drawing board.” He drained his wine glass, refilled it and topped up hers. “Your IT guy...”

“Kyle?”

“Yeah, Kyle -- he’s a good technologist but he isn’t up to this sort of analysis.”

“I think you’re right,” Marcia replied. “I think he was relieved to learn you were coming in to help out.”

“I think we’ve assembled a good working team, Marcia. You’re an important player.”

She smiled again. “Thanks. I needed that.” She drained her glass. “I needed this dinner, too. The wine was a good idea -- it’ll help me sleep.”

“Let’s see if that M.O.D. is in and if he can’t get you back into your own room.” Darren picked up the phone and punched zero. “Manager on duty, please. Yes, I’ll wait...”


Darren switched off his laptop. He stripped to his briefs, turned down the covers and slid between the sheets. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand showed it was set for six-thirty in the morning. He turned off the lamp and relaxed.

Sleep was almost upon him when he heard knocking at his door. “Yeah?” he called.

“It’s Marcia.”

“Hold on...” He pulled on his pants and shirt, buttoning it on his way to the door. He released the deadbolt and opened it. “Come in.”

She stepped in wearing a white, satin, floor-length robe and a pair of flip-flops. She glanced at the unmade bed. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, Darren.”

“No -- I wasn’t asleep ... quite.”

She handed him his shirt. “I wanted to return this. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. It was quite a day, wasn’t it?”

“It sure was.”

“Something to remember, Marcia. If something happens that’s the sort of thing we’ll laugh about years from now ... We might as well laugh about it now.”

She nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.”

He regarded her as she shifted her feet nervously. “Is there something else?”

“I ... I had a really good time with you this evening, Darren. I know I’m not the best travel companion and with all the snafus today I was wound up pretty tight ... I was able to relax during our dinner together and I do feel at ease with you. I guess that’s a long-winded way of saying ... Thanks, Darren for being here.” She grasped his hand and squeezed it.

“It’s my job, too,” he replied.

“I’ll admit I was wrong about you.”

“Wrong? How?”

“When I heard that Rebecca was bringing in a consultant to help with our vendor selection I thought ... well, I’m not sure what I thought. Then I learned it was someone Kirk insisted on...”

“You probably thought the last thing this project needed was help from one of the big boss’s cronies.”

“Something like that. The truth is, the project was foundering, and you managed to get us back on track. You gave us focus. I didn’t think you would be as helpful as you have been.”

“Some consultants are good and some are lousy -- and some are good ‘n’ lousy. I try to be one of the better ones.”

“That you are -- and you’re a decent guy, too. See you tomorrow ... I just realized. We didn’t talk about tomorrow. What’s the agenda?”

“Tomorrow ... Let’s plan on meeting in the lobby at seven. We can have breakfast and strategize on how to deal with these jokers.”

“Okay.”

“Will you need a wake-up call?”

“I think I’m a big enough girl to get up without one.”

“Big enough woman, you mean.”

“Touche.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning.” She headed toward the door. “Marcia?”

“What?”

“Do you have your passcard?”

She produced it from a pocket in her robe. “I’m not making that mistake again. Good night, Darren.”

He closed the door behind her and bolted it. Then he stripped to his briefs and slid into bed.

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