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

by Stark, Natalie

  The Cabin

  (Chloe’s Story)

  Novella Two

  By

  Natalie Stark

  Copyright 2013 by Natalie Stark

  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.

  Books by Natalie StarkThe Cabin: Mia’s Story (Book One)

  The Cabin: Chloe’s Story (Book Two)

  Visit

  www.thecabin.org.uk

  The second tale from

  The Cabin...

  Prologue

  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 p
anties 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.

  “Faster!” she cried in his ear. “I’m so close.”

  He thrust his hips harder and faster, his black hair and brow now slick with sweat.

  Unable to hold back that unbearable sense of pleasure for one more second, the young woman’s body suddenly locked then relaxed violently.

  “Oh, my God I’m going to come,” she breathed against the side of his face. Then with her breath quickening into a sequence of short gasps, she cried, “I’m coming. Oh, Christ I’m coming.”

  Her body shook against him, as the wave of pleasure she had been fighting to hold at bay spilled over and raced through her body.

  “Don’t stop!” she wailed, over the sound of the roaring train. “Please don’t stop!”

  Then, with his own sudden sense of urgency, and driven on by the sound of the young woman’s cries of pleasure as she came, he drove his hips forward.

  “I’m gonna come,” he groaned in the back of his throat.

  With his knees feeling as if they might just buckle, his back arched as he, too, came. She felt the sudden warm gush deep inside, and worked her own hips faster and harder, wanting all of him.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped, as that feeling of ecstasy washed over her whole body, making the very tips of her fingers and toes tingle. And even though his rocking hips had started to slow, she gripped his arse tight, not wanting to let him go just yet. She wanted to hold onto the weakening sensation for as long as she could.

  Gasping and panting for breath, they collapsed against each other.

  “Wow,” she breathed against him. “That was fucking amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he said, as if collecting some kind of an award.

  “It was wrong,” she said, that sense of shame still making her feel horny. “But a big fucking turn-on.”

  “Do you like being a dirty bitch?” he whispered.

  “I’ve never been given the chance,” she sighed, still trying to catch her breath. “I only came after you to give you back your phone. I didn’t think we would end up fucking.”

  “You dropped your phone,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said with a frown. “It was you who dropped your phone.”

  “You dropped your phone,” he said again, his voice sounding faint and distant.

  She eased herself back so she could look into his face.

  “Hey, you dropped your phone,” he said, his face looking into hers.

  “Huh?” she said blinking and rubbing her eyes.

  “You fell asleep and the phone slipped from your hand,” he said, offering her phone.

  Startled, she looked left, then right. Some of the other passengers were looking at her. Her face glowed warm as she felt her cheeks turn red. Slowly, she took the phone from him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” he smiled, getting up from his seat as the train pulled in at the station. Taking his bag from the overhead rack, he left the train, leaving the woman to sink into her seat, her heart racing and feeling hung-over from her dream.

  One

  I stepped from the train, and even though no one other than me could possibly have known about the dream I’d had, I walked briskly to my car with my head lowered in shame. Chloe Wells! I chided myself. What would people think if they knew you were having such dreams – fantasies? What would that po
or guy have thought if he’d known? There he was, minding his own business on his way home from work, and there I was – dreaming he was fucking me in the bathroom. I had to stop this – get a grip, and not of some stranger’s cock! I had to get a grip on my life. But my problem was boredom. My life was as dull as dishwater, and Ben didn’t help. Five years we had been married and he had become more boring with each passing year. He was job pissed. His career meant everything to him. When he wasn’t at work, he walked about the apartment with his work phone glued to the side of his face. I couldn’t remember the last time we had really spent any time together. Not quality time. Okay, so we went to the supermarket together every Saturday morning and argued over soap powder before he crashed out in front of the TV and watched football all afternoon. I would sit and watch him from the far side of the room as he sipped from cans of beer and cursed the referee under his breath each time a decision went against his team. This only disturbed my time spent reading the erotic fiction I had been secretly downloading to my iPad. Those stories were as close as my life got to being erotic these days. Ben always seemed too tired – stressed out – with work to perform lately. I had tried – I really had. But he always seemed to have an excuse. Wasn’t I meant to be the one who had the headaches? I’d never known a guy to get so many. He popped so many painkillers, I was surprised he didn’t rattle when he walked.

  Heading across the station car park towards my car, I knew my life had fallen into a rut. Both our lives had. At the age of twenty-five, I’d taken to fantasizing about strangers on the train to try and bring some excitement to my life. Unlocking my car door, I clambered inside and threw my bag on the passenger seat. A fleeting flash of my dream passed across the front of my mind and I cringed. But why did I cringe? What did I have to feel embarrassed about? No one knew other than me, and the thought of being fucked hard by a complete stranger did have its merits. It would never last long enough to become boring. I had often thought of what it would be like to have a no-strings-attached-fuck. I didn’t know, and guessed I never would. I had never had a one-night stand. Not even when I was single. Ben had been my first and a part of me now regretted that. Ben was three years older than me, and I knew I hadn’t been his first. It didn’t bother me back then, but wondered if it did now. As I had often sat and watched him from over the top of my iPad, I wondered what those other girls – the ones he had fucked before me – had been like. Was I boring? I wondered. Did I still turn him on? God knows I had tried over the last few years. I’d lost count of how many times I’d paraded around the bedroom dressed in underwear no bigger than a pair of shoelaces, but nothing seemed to work. He was always so tired, stressed, or in pain with a sore head. Maybe he had a brain tumour? I wondered, starting up the car and heading out of the car park. Nah, he didn’t have a brain tumour – although if he did, I would soon be a widow and that would leave me free, to...