The Cabin: Chloe's Story (Book Two) (The Cabin Novellas)

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The Cabin: Mia’s Story (Book One)

The Cabin: Chloe’s Story (Book Two)

Visit

www.thecabin.org.uk

The second tale from

The Cabin...

The train listed from right to left as it raced over track points, leaving London and the city behind for another day. For the last two years she had stood at the exact same spot on the platform at London Euston station and waited for her train. For the last two years she had fought for the same seat – the one by the window so she could watch the Hertfordshire hills roll past. The young woman would look at them and daydream – she liked to dream. She liked to dream about the guy who, for the last two years, had sat opposite her. The same seat, the same place for the last two years. Had that purely been by chance? She had often wondered, spying at his reflection in the glass. In all that time, only twice had he met her stare. This had happened as he reached up for his briefcase from the overhead rack, being mindful not to step on her dainty toes as he stepped from the train at his stop. Once or twice she had caught the faint scent of his aftershave. It was a musky smell, which made her stomach tighten with a twinge of nervous excitement. The young woman would look away, back out of the window. He would walk past along the platform, fishing his phone from his suit pocket and pressing it to the side of his face. Who was he calling? She wondered. His wife? Girlfriend? Lover? The train would ease out of the station, and the woman would snatch another fleeting glance of his smooth features, collar-length black hair and deep brown eyes. Then he was gone again, until the following day.

She had lost count of how many times she had tried to think up an excuse to engage him in conversation, but what could she say? Talk about the weather?
Predictable. The lateness of the trains? The overcrowding? Boring. She couldn’t think of anything. She had forgotten the art of flirting, and doubted she had really ever mastered it. So she sat, turned away from him, stealing glimpses of his perfect reflection in the window as the train rattled through the countryside, whisking her back to her boring home, marriage and life. Everything was just so predictable. Her life ran to a timetable just like the trains that sped her to and from her job in the city each day. Tomorrow she would risk sitting in a different seat – spice things up a bit. But what about the cute-looking guy with the smooth jaw, Superman black hair and dark, moody eyes? What about him? She scoffed at herself. He had glanced at her twice in two years – big deal! So what! Zippidee-do-dah! Life was boring – her life was boring – it sucked and she knew it.

As the young woman, in her finely pressed suit jacket and skirt peered out of the window, the late afternoon sun sparkling through the train window and into her blonde hair, her monotonous routine was suddenly broken. The young man sitting opposite her suddenly stood up. But it isn’t his stop, the woman thought, surprised by this break in his routine.

Turning her head ever so slightly, she watched him sway from foot to foot as he eased his way through those commuters unlucky enough to have not been able to grab themselves a seat before they were all taken. The train tilted violently to the right and she watched as his iPhone spilled from his trouser pocket and clattered to the floor.

“Excuse...” she started, then stopped, realising this would be the first time she had spoken to him. Swallowing hard, she said, “Excuse me, you’ve dropped your phone.”

The guy didn’t look back. Had he heard her over the clickety-clack of the speeding train? She wondered.

Leaning forward in her seat, she plucked up his phone before it was trampled on. She looked down at the iPhone and felt that sudden twinge of excitement again at the realisation that she now had a perfectly good excuse to start a conversation with him. She played out in her mind how, on returning to his seat
, she would smile sweetly at him and explain how she had rescued his phone from being crushed by the standing commuters. He would be grateful, wouldn’t he? How grateful? Let’s go for a drink grateful? She doubted it.

Then, glancing up at the overhead rack, she noticed his case was missing. Had he taken it? Was he getting off the train a stop or two before his own? She feared. What about his phone? How would he call whoever it was he called each night as soon as he got off the train? Easing herself from her seat, the young woman peered through the throng of people standing in the gangway. Screwing her eyes almost shut,
she could just see the guy making his way into the vestibule. Grabbing hold of the overhead handrail, she cut her way through the standing commuters, the guy’s phone clutched in her free hand. The door at the end of the carriage made a wheezing sound as it slid automatically open. She stepped into the vestibule. Where was he? She wondered, realising she had lost sight of him. She peered into the adjoining carriage, but couldn’t see him.

Then, to her right she heard a clicking noise, as if a door was being suddenly unlocked. Glancing round, she watched as the bathroom door was swung open. The guy was standing in the open doorway and staring at her. Before she’d had the chance to hand him his phone or
say anything, he had her by the wrist and was yanking her into the bathroom. Kicking the door closed with the heel of his shoe, he pressed her flat against the mirror above the tiny sink.

“What do you think you’re...” she gasped, heart racing.

“Shhh,” he demanded, placing one finger against her soft lips.

“Your phone...” she started again, brushing his finger away with her own. 

Snatching it from her, he shoved it into his trouser pocket, not once breaking her stare. He slipped a hand around her waist, pressing the flat of it into the small of her back, thrusting her hips towards his.

“Get off me...” she said, her heart now racing in her chest, consumed by an overwhelming mixture of fear and excitement.

“You’ve been watching me every day for the last two years,” he whispered, shoving his free hand beneath her skirt, pushing her thighs apart.

Instinctively, she tried to force them shut again, crushing his hand tight between her legs. She felt his knuckles brush against the soft silk of her panties, his fingertips plucking at the tops of her stockings.

“I haven’t been watching you,” she breathed, half of her wanting to loosen her grip on him so his hands could explore her further.

“Liar,” he whispered, running his free hand up the length of her back and gripping her long blond hair in his fist. “You’ve been sitting there each day for the last two years getting yourself all wet, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by me, to be touched by me, to be fucked by me.”

“No...” she started, the last of her sentence breaking off into a gasp as he forced one hand between her legs, pushing them apart again.

“You’re wet now,” he whispered against her cheek, as he hooked one finger under her panties and stroked the tip of it over her clit. He felt her shudder against him and his cock stiffened.

“I’m not,” the young woman sighed, trembling with a nervous excitement against him as he slid his finger slowly up and down. With her thigh muscles tightening, she eased her legs slightly open, telling him without words that it was okay for him to explore further.

Pulling her head back by the hair and exposing her neck, the man lunged forward, covering her neck in a series of frenzied kisses, his lips
pressing tightly over her smooth skin, his teeth nipping at her flesh. She arched her back, her breasts thrusting outwards. Untangling his fingers from her hair, he worked his hand down her neck towards her breasts. He rubbed his hand over them, pressing and squeezing.

“Admit you’ve been watching me,” he whispered, easing two of his fingers into her pussy beneath her skirt.

“No,” she murmured, pushing herself up onto the sink so he could slide his fingers deeper into her.

Taking his hand from her breasts, he pushed her skirt up, exposing the creamy white flesh above her stocking tops. He gripped the flesh there and she cried out, the sounds of her mounting pleasure being drowned out by the
clickety-clack of the speeding train.

“Admit you’ve been sitting opposite me, thinking about my cock,” he said, drawing his fingers slowly in and out of her.

“No,” she murmured, rolling her head back against the mirror, feeling dirty and cheap as she let the stranger play with her. The sense of cheapness she now felt turned her on – this had been the excitement she had always craved. The casual, unattached fuck she had always imagined would bring excitement to her dull life – break that routine.

With her pussy beginning to grow hot, and eyes half open, she reached forward and unzipped the front of the guy’s trousers. Reaching inside, she curled her fingers around him. His cock felt hard in her hand, and she squeezed it gently. He made a groaning sound deep in his throat.

“This is what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered, feeling her touch his cock.

“No,” she murmured, slowly sliding her hand up and down the length of him. It felt heavy in her hands as it pointed up towards his stomach.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he said, slowly sliding his finger from her pussy.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, not wanting the building sensation she could feel growing inside of her to subside one little bit.

“So tell me the truth,” he said, taking her hand from around his cock. Then, instead of using his fingers, he pressed the tip of his cock against her clit and began to move it slowly in a circular motion.

Feeling it teasingly close to her wet opening, she reached for his cock again, needing to guide it deep inside of her. She wanted to be filled by him.

Slapping her hand away, he said, “Tell me what you want.”

With the end of his cock brushing against her hard clit, the young woman’s heart thumped at her core and her lips trembled. She did want him.

“You want to know what it would feel like to set yourself free,” he whispered, as if being able to read her mind. “But only you can do that.”

With a pang of warmth spreading out from her core, and the need to be fucked bordering on urgency, she half opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Fuck me,” she said. “I want you to fuck me so hard, it hurts.”

He had heard what she wanted, and needed to fuck her as much as she needed to be fucked by him. He sank his cock deep inside of her. With her butt resting on the sink, the young woman locked her legs around his back, pulling him into her. Running his hands over her stockings, he gripped her, dug his fingertips into her thighs and pushed himself harder into her. Rocking back and forwards in sync with the motion of the speeding train, they fucked. Gripping his tight arse, the woman bucked her hips in time with each of his powerful thrusts.

“Harder,” she demanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck me so hard.”

Driven on by her demands, the man slid himself deeper into her until there was nothing left. He felt his balls rubbing against the soft fabric of her panties and they ached, desperate to be emptied.

Feeling as if the wall of pressure building deep inside was going to break apart, the young woman worked her hips as if riding his cock.

“Faster,” she begged, not knowing for how much longer she could hold back that building tide inside. She wanted to hold it back for as long as she could. However much she wanted to feel that unimaginable release as she came, she didn’t want it to end – not just yet. She had never felt this turned on, this fucking dirty, and it was that feeling which made her want to come as much as the stranger’s cock.