The Cabin: Chloe's Story (Book Two) (The Cabin Novellas) (2 page)

“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 poor 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...

Chloe Wells!
I chided myself again.
What are you thinking!

I did love Ben, he was a good husband in so many ways, but he had become
so boring. Sometimes I hoped that he was having an affair. I wouldn’t be happy about it, but it would justify me having unattached sex with someone else without guilt. It would make us even. But Ben was never going to have an affair – he didn’t even go to the office Christmas party anymore. He had become dull. He was obsessed with his banking career. He didn’t have time for me – let alone another woman.

I headed towards home, the last fragments of my dream flitting around in the back of my mind. I thought of that guy again and what we had done together in my dream. Some chance, I thought, the memory of it making my skin tingle and turning m
e a little wet. Feeling a bit horny as I remembered my dream, I pushed a little harder on the accelerator and sped up. Glancing at my wristwatch, I knew that Ben wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. That would give me time to relieve myself of that tingly excitement I felt at the thought of that guy fucking me on the train. I’d bought a vibrator a year or two back on the suggestion of a girlfriend. She said her and her husband used it during foreplay. Apparently it had really done things for their sex life. It had done jack-shit for mine, and I’d taken to using it on myself when alone in the apartment. Did I care? A little, if I were being honest with myself, but looking on the bright side, the vibrator was always willing, it never went soft before I’d come, and it never got a fucking headache!

So racing home, I planned to spend the next hour or two before Ben got home and raided the medicine cabinet, fantasizing about that guy fucking me on the train.

Ben

Leaving the office, I made my way out onto the street. That pounding had started in my temples again and I knew within ten, fifteen minutes, my brain would feel as if someone had set loose a herd of buffalo inside my skull. They would charge around the corridors of my mind, kicking up flaky lumps of grey matter with their giant hooves. Rubbing my temples with the balls of my hand, I headed away from work for the day and set off in the direction of home for the weekend. I wouldn’t take my car, my head was hurting way too much already, and sometimes the headaches could be blinding. I had enough shit in my life without wrecking the goddamn car and me along with it. Chloe really would freak out if I truly became permanently paralyzed below the waist. I was so tired most nights, I could hardly raise a smile, let alone anything else. I knew that pissed Chloe off, but she didn’t have the worries I had. The credit crunch had hit the banking sector hard, despite what the distrusting public thought. To them we were all just greedy bankers, but that just wasn’t true. The shareholders probably, but not the guys and girls at my level. It was a hard slog, and with redundancies looming daily, I had to work hard if I wanted to avoid the axe when it inevitably came swinging down. I just wish Chloe could see that. The receptionist job she held in town wasn’t going to pay the mortgage on the apartment, the two cars, and everything else. No, the buck pretty much stopped with me and it stressed me out. I wanted more from life than just a one-bed apartment overlooking a car park. I wanted a house big enough to one day raise a family in, and a garden for them to play in. These days, that didn’t come cheap.

But these days, Chloe just seemed to be obsessed with sex. What guy wouldn’t want a wife like that? Most I guess, but not me – not right now. The pressure at work had not only caused me to suffer from migraines, but it had affected the old pecker, too. It had nothing to do with how I felt about Chloe. Shit
, she was hot when she wanted to be – which was most of the time. She always had the knack of being able to turn me on, so the fact that I found it increasingly difficult to get a hard-on now, had nothing to do with Chloe. It had to do with me and my job.

It had started slight at first, and whereas I’d once been able to get hard at the sight of her in her skimpy panties that she liked to wear, I now noticed that my dick would barely twitch, let alone get stiff. But the more I worried about it – the more I thought Chloe would think I was some kind of sexual inadequate – the less able I was to get a hard-on. So I started to make excuses. I was tired, my head ached, or there was a football match on the TV. And it’s funny because before you knew what was happening, the football had become more appealing than watching Chloe writhe around on the bed in her silk panties. Football had become safer – there was no expectation on me – it was all on the players. But
secretly, I stressed about it and I stressed about work. I really did start to get headaches and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a hard-on. And on it went, around and around in a big circle. I knew me and Chloe were drifting apart. I knew she had taken to using that sex toy on herself. I woke one night on the sofa where I had fallen into a drunken stupor. I could hear the sound of it buzzing as she rubbed it frantically against her clit in the bedroom. But instead of going to her and giving her what it was she really craved, I rolled onto my side, and closed my eyes against the tears which stung them.

There was a chemist on my way home, I went inside. The pain in my head now making me feel sick, I staggered inside. Beads of sweat covered my brow. I took a pack of painkillers from the counter and paid for them. The pharmacist gave me a worried look, and I headed back out of the store before he had the chance to say anything. Back on the street, I took two of the white tablets from the packet. I popped them into my mouth and bit down on them, my teeth grinding them into a white powder. They tasted bitter and I grimaced. Placing the packet into my pocket, I headed up the street towards home.

Trying to block out the pain, I rubbed my temples again and thought of Chloe. She would be home by now, and I wondered who she was fantasizing about today. I knew she did that now, and I knew she had checked out Internet porn, too. I’d checked her browsing history. I wasn’t spying on her. I was scared of losing her. I feared I might lose her to another if I wasn’t careful. She was young, pretty and very sexy. Plenty of guys would like to take her off my hands. I knew my fears weren’t unfounded.

To my horror and disgust I’d discovered she had checked out some kind of website for people who liked to partner swap. What did they call themselves? I tried to remember through the foggy pain. Swingers – that was it. Chloe had checked out a website called
Bed-Swappers
. I found the whole thing disgusting and I told her so. We rowed when she had discovered I’d checked out her browser history. She accused me of spying on her and not trusting her. I told her I’d discovered it by accident and she said she found the website the same way. I didn’t believe her and she didn’t believe me. There you go – we were both lying to each other. What next? I feared.

So I knew there was every chance that one day soon I would arrive home to find Chloe had left me for another.
Someone who could keep his dick as hard and as long as a twelve inch lump of vibrating plastic. Lucky guy. I winced at a sudden stab of pain in my head. Rubbing my temples again, I shuffled on towards home.