The Sleeper

xxx-fiction-story-disclaimer-top2

Emma sighs as the train stops in front of the small crowd of people who stand to get on.  Like usual, a sheeple-like crowd steps off the train, and another enters.  Today, she’s one of the sheeple entering the commuter train.  It’s another early morning going to work.  Another morning Emma felt bored with daily the struggle of being a commuter.

Emma, you need a change,’ she thought before she stepped into the train.

She moves toward the back of the carriage like she usually does.  Not right to the back seat, but three-quarters down.  Once there, Emma stays standing, where she grabs hold of the bar overhead with a hand.  A few moments later, the train starts.  It’ll stop downtown in about fifty minutes, and she’ll get off.

The pretty blonde is unsure when her life got so dull, but it has.  She gets up, has breakfast, goes to work, comes home back to her empty apartment, and then goes to bed to repeat the process.  Glancing around the equally bored faces around her, she doesn’t feel alone.  This recurring nightmare of dull routine has trapped everyone, and their faces show it.

Emma’s only thirty, and she believes she shouldn’t feel like this.  The woman remembers being in her late teens and feeling like she would conquer the world.  She earned a degree in business she worked hard for, which got Emma the job she always wanted.  But after a while, the job got boring.  Despite her degree, her work became repetitive.  There are no opportunities to do anything exciting and new.  It made Emma realize they rigged the game against her from the start.

Others have hinted that she should have married and had children by now.  Even in this feminist age, Emma still gets this from her family in particular.  She scoffs out loud whenever she hears or thinks this.  Being married is OK, as are kids, but it’s not for everyone.  Sure, Emma might get married one day, but it has to be with an extraordinary guy.  Most people pick a partner they can stand and who can stand them, but that’s not true love to Emma.  She wants to find love, not just settle for a tolerable male.

Even sex has gotten boring.  Emma went out last weekend to a nearby bar with a friend.  There she met a rather good-looking muscular guy.  He wasn’t too bright, and the blonde knew he was lying through his teeth about most of what he said.  However, she wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, just a fuck.  But when they fucked back at his place, Emma also found that boring.  She didn’t even orgasm.  It was the same thing as always.  Same positions.  Same feelings.  Same awkward talking once it’s over.  Same lies about how good it was.

I wish something would happen to break me out of this rut,’ she thought.  ‘I know, I know, be careful what you wish for, Emma.  What breaks me out might be something horrible.  But I wouldn’t mind something new happening.  Something to give me the feeling I’m alive.’

The train stops at another stop.  Once again, people get off the train, and new people get in.  They move past Emma, not saying anything even if they bumped into her.  They take their usual seats with faded looks in their eyes, and the train resumes moving.

Many of them stare forward, disappearing into their little worlds, shut off from those around them with earbuds playing music or the latest podcasts.  Some are reading books or newspapers, and others are already tapping on laptops to get a start to their day.  Most stare into one device or another or out the window, no doubt daydreaming of better things or grappling with their anxieties or depression.  It’s just another day on the train.

Emma leaves for work early, so the train is only about half full.  She likes this because she likes her space.  When the train gets crowded, it just feels weird.  Claustrophobic.  Emma’s never been keen on large crowds, which is why she rarely goes to busy places or huge events.

A large man moves past her, and he bumps into her in a way that feels like it was on purpose.  The guy is big like some footballer.  He’s older than Emma in his forties.  A MAGA hat crowns his balding head.  He could have knocked her over if the blonde woman hadn’t had such a firm grip on the overhead bar.  Emma expected him to say sorry or something when he does this, but he doesn’t.  Instead, the guy moves right behind her.  Like, right behind her.  His body is touching Emma, and she doesn’t like it.

The stranger snaps her out of her usual sheeple mode.  She wishes she could say she knows what to do in such a situation, but overall, the woman’s just confused.  ‘What is he doing back there?’ Emma wonders, frowning.  ‘Is this a joke or something?

He stays pressed against her backside as if they know each other.  It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand as it feels, well, scary.  It isn’t supposed to happen.  No one ever does anything on the train ride to work.  It goes against the usual train etiquette.

“Hey, look,” Emma begins to say after a few seconds of him pressing his body into hers.

She starts to turn so she can look at him, prepared to tell him she’s not in the mood for stupid-dumb-shit today.  Emma’s not one for confrontations as she would let things go rather than make a fuss.  However, something like this is not on and needs to stop before it goes too far.  She needs to address the situation immediately.

As Emma turns, he brings his hand around her.  The action startles her, and Emma tries to step back but can’t as he’s behind her.  His large hand then grabs her chin.  His grip is steadfast and stern to the point it makes her gasp.

Then he turns her head so it’s facing front.  He forces it forward, despite what Emma was going to do.  Once she’s facing front, he lets go and removes his hand.  Stunned, Emma keeps staring ahead, not believing that happened.  Quickly her heart begins to pound as she feels an unfamiliar feeling.  It’s fear, and it isn’t part of her morning routine.  It feels so foreign to her that it wakes her up better than any coffee.  ‘Is this happening?’ she wonders.  ‘I don’t even know what this is.’

Emma gasps again when the man puts his hand on her butt.  Wide-eyed, she stands there, not moving, feeling him squeeze her skirt-covered butt lightly.  That’s what he’s doing, grabbing her butt, and squeezing it.  He’s groping her.  Groping Emma on the train where no one can see.  Long moments pass as he gropes her bottom, changing between cheeks as Emma stares forward as if her life depends on it.  His hand cups her butt cheeks, squeezing lightly, then much harder.  He repeats this as he changes from cheek to cheek.

In her fear, Emma’s not sure what she wants to do.  ‘Do I want someone to notice and say something, so he’ll stop?’ she wonders.  ‘Or will that make him upset?  If he gets upset, what might he do?  Or is that what he wants?  Does he want me to call for help?  Or maybe to beg him not to do this?  Does something like that get him off?

The man grabs her left wrist that hangs at her side while still groping her ass with the other hand.  With a death grip on her wrist, he slowly lifts it upward.  He does it so slowly that no one seems to notice it’s not her doing it.  He keeps on lifting until he puts her hand next to her other hand on the overhead bar.

“Keep your hands up there,” he whispers.

Still overwhelmed by all this, Emma obeys.  The blonde’s hands grab the bar tightly as if she’s hypnotized or something.  Emma doesn’t believe she’s doing this either.  Doing what this creep wants seems against everything decent.  As she holds the bar overhead, Emma can feel him moving behind her.  She can’t see him, but it feels like he’s going into his pockets.  Another set of long moments passes as she stands still and stares forward like this.

His hands move up toward the bar, and the woman again notices the size of the man.  He is taller than her and much broader too.  It’s not fat either.  The guy towers over her like a movie villain, which adds to her fear.  Emma softly shakes her head as she sees what he means to do.  He grabs her hands in his and lifts, so her hands go higher than the bar.  It isn’t so bad, but what he’s holding is something that looks dangerously like a zip tie.

To her dismay, he does what Emma dreads and ties her wrists with the zip tie over the bar.  The man ties it tight, pressing her wrists together, making her forearms push against the bar as Emma’s stuck.  It makes it so she can’t lower her hands.  Emma’s stuck.  She’s hanging from the bar on the train.  ‘No, I can’t be,’ she thought.  ‘This isn’t what happens on the train.’

****

This is a free sample of the short story The Sleeper by Misty Chikan. Buy the The Sleeper to read the whole story or join our Members Area to read ALL our stories.

disclaimer

 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.