tagRomanceStrangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 02

Strangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 02


And chapter 2, a little bit less face punching than chapter 1...Enjoy ;)

The lights from the small dance floor flashed repeatedly in her eyes. Through the dusty white light, stood a tall, dark-skinned woman with long black hair. Her expensive deep violet dress reached to the floor, and the gold threads sparkled in each movement. Emeline knew her; they had met just once before. That was enough to make an impression on them both. Her unabashedly thick accent tossed the words of the harsh language around like playthings or streams of honey in Emeline's head.

"Business is going well. Exactly as I told you before. We have had a number of wealthy new patrons."

"That's great," Emeline said meekly, trying not to draw the attention of the patrons around her. "I didn't doubt you." The woman grinned back, square white teeth peeking out against her complexion. The soft ebony skin reached across high cheekbones and a powerful jaw, like artwork or old royalty.

"And that is why I like you," the woman said sweetly. "Have you still not found anything worth your time?" They both knew the answer. She stared on, taking in Emeline's face: dainty lips under a pointed nose, curious, bright green eyes. Long blond curls framed her face. The woman laid a hand softly on her shoulder. "If you worked for me, I would be inclined to tell you to do less—of whatever you do." She ran a long finger down Emeline's bicep. "You have too much muscle to be a high class woman. But, I can't bring myself to find that off-putting." She took Emeline by the hand. "You are too skinny, though, do you eat? Apart from the beer I bought you, have you had anything today?"

"I get by just fine. You know what it's like being, well, new in town." Emeline wouldn't say it, but she wanted desperately to go home--to her real home, unaccessible by train, or boat. Her project was dragging on for months now. Each day seemed to wear her down even more. The woman understood, and saw, all of this. They were the same: foreigners, female foreigners in a very strict, even scary, city.

"When you get bored, you come find me." A thin girl dressed in white tapped the woman on her shoulder.

"Miss Elaine, your special guest is on his way to the shop." Elaine nodded to the girl. "Well, Emeline, I must get going. We have a special shipment coming in."

"At midnight?" she laughed.

"Very special shipment," Elaine winked. "Sir," she snapped to the bartender. "A second beer for the lady here." Emeline tilted the mostly full beer glass upward, and drowned the drink in one go, setting it down as Elaine handed her the next. "And you're not drunk, yet?" Elaine laughed, tracing the lines of Emeline's face, coming to her chin. "I don't know how you do that. That beer is the size of you. You enjoy this one, and find me when you get bored. I don't care how you got to this town; it's refreshing to have someone to talk to." Elaine kissed her on the cheek and turned to follow her assistant. They moved through the door, and out of sight. Emeline's shoulders sunk, sighing. Her wired smile turned immediately to a desperate frown, as she breathed out all the fake happiness and feigned interest she had been bestowing on Elaine, the exotic owner of a wealthy perfumerie. The bartender locked eyes with her.

"Is she your patron or something? I bet if you went home with her, she'd buy you more than just a beer."

"Shut up," Emeline whispered passively. With each breath, her spirit and facade deflated. Exhausted tears were welling up, but she scanned the bar for anyone she might be able to chat up, to tease, to charm into buying her real food, something warm.

"Eat something, would you," the bartender said, tossing a bowl of half eaten fried bits to her. "You're getting less pretty every day." Emeline wanted to snap, but the bartender was always friendly to her. He was the closest thing she had to friend. He would probably give her more food tomorrow and the day after.

Back home, she slipped her legs through the opening of a velvety green dress. A dark color, standing out against the white of her chemise. She laced and tied the dress, alone, sitting on an old chair before a long, distorted mirror. She arrived alone and she did everyone alone. The room was rotting, decrepit, left to expire. A lonely hole in an abandoned building of the old factory district. The clothes were left piled in an old wooden trunk. Empty glass bottles and perfumes were left discarded by the mirror. Emeline was twenty-six and totally cut off from the world. She spoken occasionally with other girls her age, and enjoyed the small-talk. She always surprised them with her intelligence and wit, despite being so cute and small. Most assumed she was an immigrant. When she spoke, you could hear the lilt of someone with another mother tongue. She couldn't produce the guttural sounds of a native. Her words were perfectly chosen and arranged, but her accent left them sounding too soft and rounded. She charmed these random women in salons and bars, and many nearly convinced her to come work at a factory or a store, to study in the university, or, very often, to come meet someone's brother or cousin, who would certainly find her endearing. The moment the conversation became to probing, or the audience to big, she would disappear when their backs were turned. There was no way around it. They were all the same anyway--people were distractions or tools. Except, of course, the man she had met in the train. When all of the other faces faded away, she would remember his, with that smug grin, as though he was the best, and he could have whatever he wanted. His face made her angry.

Her gaze was lost in the mirror. She had so many rude things to say to him. So many ways to torture and embarrass him. In her head, she replayed the events of their single encounter. Him holding her pinned against the door, except, this time, she delivers a fabulous line about his low class, and how he shouldn't be so cocky. She pulls him close seductively, teasing him, before bashing her knee into his stomach. She pins him. He continues to argue with her-- "You like it, don't you?" he goes on and on about how she likes it, and how he is going to dominate her. She readies her hand to punch him, stab him, prod him, shoot him, anything. Her stomach fills with warmth and she can feel the emptiness of her vagina, desperate and hungry, and the man in her visions snarls in her ear as he flips her onto her back. Face-to-face, he pins her hands above her head and plays with her. She tries to whine her body away him. He grabs her face, and tells her he will let her go, if she asks. She can't say the words, even in her own head. She wanted him to take her. She wanted him to find her. Emeline shook herself from her failed fantasy, an almost nauseous, hateful feeling taking over.

The dirty mattress on the floor was covered in books, in many languages, sizes and styles. This was her life, inside and out and she was getting tired. This was the last day Emeline would worry herself with her mission. In the morning, she was going to move on, and find something to live for. She was ready to say goodbye to her life's work and make a life of her own. A life with real friends, work, and a man that isn't an asshole.

In the darkness, she sauntered down the large cement stairs, her heels echoing in the emptiness. Stepping through aging aluminum doors she was in the streets of Berlitz. The bickering of three young men filled the smoky air. To her surprise, she felt excitement. This was the end of her wasted time. She would cast aside her past self and write a new character with a new, fabricated, history. No more daggers hidden in stockings, or satchels of mystery serums and weapons. She disappeared down the stairs to an underground station.

A lamp flickered on the dark platform. Ornate letters spelled out "Oranienburger" in gold against the gray graffitied wall. Emeline's lips pursed as the train before her screeched to a stop. Warmth grew in the depths of her stomach and she willed herself to focus. It had been weeks since her close encounter with the miner in car #4. Once, she was certain he was present, hiding somewhere, watching her, but he never showed. She refused to give the satisfaction of thinking about it. The metal machine groaned as doors opened. Solemn, she depressed the button to Car #4—nothing. It was stuck. One, two, three times she pressed it, but nothing happened.

"Hauptbanhof," the radio voice muttered and Emeline sprinted for the next car, slipping through closing doors. The eyes of elderly and tired workers fell on her, concerned and confused by her panting. Slowly, they turned away and she immediately pulled on the connecting door, opening it, allowing a rush of cold outside air to sweep in. The passengers willfully ignored her rule-breaking, and she slipped through the icy external air, jumping over the empty space and into the next car. Her pale skin was rigid with cold and she hurried to shut the door. Her blood was pumping with adrenaline, and something came over her. The coldness of the metal door, an unforgettable scent in the air, and she could not forget the man that she let put his fingers inside of her. Her head knocked against the door.

"Fuck," she whispered, "fucking calm down." There was too much work to do.

"I like this dress better," a familiar voice said cooly and she whipped herself around. Lounging on the red velvet seats along the wall sat the same man, Viktor. Same dusty blond baby hair tucked under a sooty cap. Same red workers uniform. His face was marked by a short blond beard and, for the first time, Emeline really saw him in his entirety. He smiled an unbearably genuine grin in her direction, and her face went red.

"I didn't—I don't care. What are you doing here?" She demanded.

"Please, at least sit down. I'd like to talk."

"You locked the doors?" She complained, walking closer. The man chuckled at her, either from amusement or frustration. He leaned onto his feet, took her hand and led her to sit beside him. Emeline would get her revenge but, first, she wanted to hear what the man had to say. A short conversation would reveal any good information, and then she would stab him. She sat under his outstretched arm, shoulder digging into his hard chest. He grinned as he analyzed her expression, bemused. She crossed her arms, face twitching with skepticism.

"I was just looking at your face," he whispered, fingering her hair. "I think you're being paranoid. Something on your mind." Embarrassment filled her and she turned to escape. "Want to know how I got the car empty?" She did, obviously, but she couldn't say that. She wanted to listen to him, and to trust him, and that was more dangerous than the monster that would be popping up in the next fifteen minutes. Even worse, he, no doubt, knew all of this.

"Hey, you stabbed me in the neck with a needle and I trust you." He said to the back of her head, and reached for her hair. He brushed the golden lock aside and whispered in her ear. "I told them I was going to propose to you."

"What is your fucking problem?" He grabbed her by the wrist as she stood.

"Take your pick, there are obviously a slew of them." He was leaning forward, head tilted up to her. His hands went down to her waist, holding on tightly. "You are so obviously not a spy, so what is it that is going on in this car? I've been trying to follow you, trying to see what is going on, but you are very tricky. I worked pretty hard to get you alone. You're basically trapped, now. A little creepy, I know." She exhaled weakly. That scent in the air wasn't from a memory, it was him. Her body felt tired and pliable, as though the atmosphere was a drug. It was suffocating. "Fuck, were you actually crying earlier? Don't disappoint me." Anger at being insulted, at feeling like an animal in a zoo, was building up inside of her. She turned, and he grabbed her again and pulled her close, hand brushing against her breast.

"Purely an accident," he indicated, but continued to hold her there. "If you tell me to stop," his hand ran along her body quickly finding its way under her stockings, "I'll stop." She bucked, the air rushing from her lungs. Her buttocks lifted over his cock, and her vagina settled itself on him. Through his thick rough pants, the heat and blood pulsed, rubbing itself just inside of her. "No questions asked. Just tell me to stop." His arm clutched her tightly against his body as his fingers fought around the layers of fabric. He released her upper body entirely and she tumbled forward, hands landing on empty seats. She gasped as his finger came to her entrance. It lingered, running along the lips, pressing slowly inward..

"You can't just do this," she barked. He hesitated, finger slowly lifting away from her labia. He pulled back, and she felt the cold air on her back where his warm chest had been. She craned to see his tanned, dirty face. His eyes were glass and his lips spread apart behind his beard. His breathing slowed and he threw his head back for a moment, brushing a hand through his hair before continuing. He had clearly been having the same unstoppable visions as Emeline for the past month.

"Should I stop?" His gaze fell back on her face, as he slipped one finger through her entrance, penetrating her. She wailed in surprise, legs squirming, pained by her inability to fight. His breath went out and his lips curled to a familiar snarl. She felt his free hand grope upward toward her breast, pulling it from under her dress, he teased the nipple, watching her face contort. "Do you want to stop?" A second finger entered her and began to slam in and out more quickly, brushed along her internal walls. He made small circles on her insides and Emeline's head fell onto her arms, laying weakly on the seats. Through shut eyelids, Emeline saw a light: the next station. Her head bolted up, and her body broke into a cold sweat: more passengers. Viktor released her. He pulled a small metal rod from his deep pockets and slammed it into the overhead lights. The car went dark instantly. The light from the upcoming station scattered across the floor. Viktor threw himself on top of her and they laid in silence as the would-be passengers tried to open the door and moved on to the next car. The train began to move once more. Viktor's lips came closer, eyes closed. With all of her strength, she pushed him backward and forced him to the ground, pinned. Finally, she had pinned him.

"So, we have a few more stops to ourselves. Plenty of time for you to tell me who you are," he said calmly, as though they were anywhere else, in any other position. Emeline raised an eyebrow, lips twisting to a half-grin. "Did you know you're smiling right now?"

"It's because I'm laughing at how stupid you are." She whispered, holding him by the wrists, hands over his head.

"No, it's because you're enjoying this. You think you've got me beat. Oh, you're so strong."

"Well, I could just stab you. I did it once. Basically." In a flash, he ripped his hands from her grip and she slapped against his chest. He sat up, clutching her hips, pulling them down closer to his cock. Before her hands push him away, he took them in one grip and yanked her close, whispering in her ear.

"I think you're smiling because you know you can't beat me. It turns you on that I am better at this game than you." Again, his cock rubbed against her already wet vagina. Her legs twitched. Her eyes changed as she looked down at him. The game had changed, but it continued.

"How are you so sure?" she whispered softly, as she rubbed herself against him.

"That's cute. Just keep trying." His hand tilted her buttocks upward before spanking it softly, holding himself back. Her eyes snapped shut, jaw clenched, she needed him to do it again.

"I could smell you before I even saw you," he said. She looked down at him--his red face by her breasts. He moved the fabric aside with one finger and took a nipple in his lips. She laid her hands on his shoulders, still straddling him on the cold floor, and watched his tongue draw circles around her pink nipples before releasing her. "I can smell you. Is that weird? I think it's science. What do you think?" He asked meekly, but she was silent. He held her close to his chest and set her on the floor, pushing her down with his lips. In the darkness, he placed her leg over his shoulder and slowly untied her boot, setting it carefully on the ground beside him, and then peeled away her hose, revealing soft, chilled, skin. Slowly, he returned the one foot to the ground and she placed her other foot on his shoulder, allowing him to disrobe her lower body, slowly, eyes locked, refusing to give in and look away. He grabbed her hips and pulled her in, legs over his shoulders. She heard a zip and her teeth clenched in fear. Her mind was second guessing itself. She had allowed herself to be fully compromised, and, if anything bad happened, it was her own fault. Emeline couldn't look away, and watched his face, expectantly, waiting for him to take his revenge on her body. His hands took her legs and pulled her close. The sudden warmth of his cock pressed against her vagina, and it brushed against her sensitive skin, edging closer. She had punched him, sedated him, insulted and teased him, and now she was under his thumb. Her body braced itself as he looked down at her vagina, studying her.

Their eyes met once more and she knew fear was written across her face. A sudden energy shot through her, his finger trailing along her lips once more, spreading them apart, feeling the wetness. A hard fullness entered her; her head tilted back as her eyes clamped shut in response. With a gasp, her breathing elevated and her groans moved into a higher octave, weak. His dick pulled out and he began slowly thrusting inside of her, plunging further and easier, smoother with each movement. She had never had sex like this, his cock pressing hard inside her, filling her perfectly as though their parts were shaped in the same manner. His tender, cautious thrusts became faster, warm sensations constantly ebbing in Emeline's stomach. She saw his eyes trail down, and he watched, wholly mesmerized, as her breasts bounced up and down with each thrust. He was moving faster, hitting deep inside of her, and the warmth became constant. Her mouth released a weak scream of pleasure.

He took her by the ankle and turned her onto her side, buttocks centimeters from his dick. One hand gripped her round ass. The soft flesh stood out against her muscular legs and smooth waist. Without a word, he slowly pushed inside of her once more, her pussy tight as her legs squeezed together. A small groan creaked out of her lips as her body shook. She wanted to speak, but the air was caught in her throat. She was heaving. Her small hand reached to his red shirt and tugged. Senses regained, he peeled the red shirt from his skin. Her hand fell onto his warm skin, his hard abs leading upward to a large, broad chest, marked by patches of hair. He gripped her buttocks once more, his other hand taking her hand. She watched his biceps flex as he clutched her tightly. Again, he thrust, quickly, rhythmically. He spanked her ass, as it quivered against his thrusts. Emeline's thoughts became undone as he continued to relentlessly ram inside her. She was trapped under his animal thrusts, until--

"I want you to cum," he held her close as he rolled to his back, allowing her to straddle him. Her breath returned as she found her insides settling around his cock. "God, I want you to cum." Emeline wanted to insult him, say she had won, but, more importantly, she wanted to do as he said. She began to move up and down his shaft, ass in the air, upper body still--

"You won't finish like that." He stared at her face. "Don't focus on me, I want to see you cum, and you want to do it." Timidly, she came forward, laying her soft, small breasts against his unyielding chest. Slowly, she took him in, feeling his cock fill every corner of herself. Grinding against him, she took him in deeper and he began to push against something very sensitive inside her. He gripped her buttocks and clutched her tighter, his dick rubbing harder against this deep space. Instantly, she felt herself coming closer to the edge. Her hands grabbed his hair. As he pulled her harder against his cock. Her breathing was shallow, moans in his ear becoming weaker. Her head crushed into his neck as her body released, wave after wave, her senses became fuzzy, her body weak. Her vagina was pulsating around his dick. As she breathed out, she settling against his chest.

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