Night Train to Hamburg

Strangers Short Stories · approx. 8 min read · 18+

A night train ride from Vienna to Hamburg, a sleeper car, a seating area. Literary short story. 18+.

The ÖBB Nightjet from Vienna to Hamburg departs at 19:32 from Vienna Central Station. I had booked a single compartment because it was the only option where I might get an hour of sleep, and because I had a presentation in Eppendorf the next morning. I’m bad at sleeping, and trains make it worse, but I try.

I put off trying to check in for an hour and a half because I wanted to have a drink. The dining car was full, but at one of the four-person tables sat only a woman, about forty, with a cardigan and a glass of red wine. She had brown eyes that studied me as I approached, and a very calm way of looking at someone without scrutinizing them. Her gaze wandered over my body, lingered briefly at my crotch, then back to my eyes. My cock twitched involuntarily in my pants as I felt her appraising look.

“May I?”

She looked up, saw me, nodded. She had brown eyes and a very calm way of looking at someone without scrutinizing them. But her lips were slightly parted, and I could see her swishing the wine around in her mouth before swallowing.

“Where to?” I asked after I had ordered. A beer, because I needed something to calm my rising arousal.

“Hamburg. You?”

“Hamburg too.”

“Ever taken the Nightjet before?”

“Second time.”

“Can you sleep on it?”

“No.”

She laughed. It was a quiet laugh, almost introverted. Her name was Katja, a lawyer in Vienna, she had an appointment at a shipping company in the Speicherstadt the next morning. We drank two glasses of red wine together. The conductor came by twice, checked our tickets, saw without comment that we weren’t in the same compartment, and moved on. With every sip, I watched her throat move, how the tendons stood out, how her breasts bounced slightly under the cardigan as she shifted.

Near Linz she said:

“Want another glass in my compartment? I have a bottle.” Her voice was deeper now, almost husky. I felt my cock harden in my pants just from the sound of her words.

“What kind of wine?”

“A Burgundy I don’t want to drink alone.” She smiled, and that smile told me everything I needed to know.

I went with her. Her compartment was a double, she had booked both spots because she wanted to sleep alone and it was cheaper than a single. The bed wasn’t folded out yet. We sat next to each other on the bench, she poured, and the train rocked us quietly from Linz toward Passau, through a landscape that had no shape in the dark, just a few lights in the valley. Her shoulder touched mine, and I felt the warmth through the fabric.

“Why don’t you drink this wine alone?” I asked.

“Because I bought it for a specific occasion, and the occasion fell through.”

“What occasion?”

She looked at me, appraising, almost amused. “He was supposed to travel with me to Hamburg. He canceled two hours ago.”

“Before you boarded?”

“After boarding. Text message from the platform. He turned around.”

“Your idea to bring him along?”

“His.”

I nodded. I took a sip of wine. The wine was really good, a soft Pinot Noir with a hint of earth. But I barely tasted it because my thoughts were only circling around her body, the way she held the glass, how her fingers wrapped around the stem.

“Did he give a reason?” I asked.

“He wrote that he couldn’t do it to his wife.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?”

“That you didn’t want to be alone in this compartment tonight.” I let my hand rest on her thigh, very lightly, just a touch. She didn’t flinch.

She looked at me. She brought the glass to her mouth, drank, set it down again. She said slowly, almost cautiously: “I didn’t invite you because I didn’t want to be alone. I invited you because I watched you for an hour in the dining car and found that you’re someone who understands what’s polite and what isn’t.”

“And that’s good?”

“Tonight, that’s all I need.” Her hand wandered onto my thigh, just inches from my crotch. I felt the heat of her fingers through the fabric.

I took her glass, set it on the small fold-down table. I placed my hand on her cheek, very lightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, looked at me, clear, precise. Her lips were only inches from mine.

“It’s enough for me if we just sit,” I said, but my hand wandered lower, over her neck, to her collarbone, then to her breast. She let out a soft moan when I found her nipple through the fabric of her cardigan.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why this works.” She leaned forward and kissed me. It was a long, deep kiss, her tongue exploring my mouth while her hand massaged my cock through my pants. I felt it press against the fabric, how she gripped it and squeezed lightly.

She pulled away from my lips, looked at me, her eyes glazed with desire. “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me here, on this train, while it rides through the night. I want to feel your cock inside me.”

I stood up, folded out the bed. It was narrow, but enough. She undressed slowly, almost ritualistically. The cardigan fell to the floor, then the blouse. Her breasts were full, with dark nipples that stiffened under my gaze. She freed herself from her skirt, tights, and panties. Her pussy was shaved, her labia slightly open, glistening wet in the dim light of the compartment.

I undressed too, letting my clothes fall to the floor. My cock stood hard and erect, the head red and swollen, a small drop of precum beading at the tip. She looked at it, licked her lips, knelt in front of me.

“Let me taste it,” she said, and before I could answer, she took my cock into her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the head, her tongue swirled around it as she went deeper and deeper. I groaned loudly as she took me all the way into her throat, her hand gripping the rest of my shaft and moving in rhythm with her mouth. The train jolted, and each jolt made her head slide deeper onto my cock. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, but it didn’t hurt, it was just an extra sensation that brought me closer to the edge.

“Stop,” I gasped, pulling her up. “I want to be inside you when I come.”

She smiled, a predatory smile, and turned around, bending over the bed. Her ass was round and firm, her pussy wet and open, waiting. I positioned myself behind her, the head of my cock nudging against her slick folds. She pushed back against me, and I slid in, slowly, inch by inch. She was tight, hot, and wet, and I felt her walls clench around me as I buried myself to the hilt.

“Yes,” she moaned, “fuck me, fuck me hard.”

I grabbed her hips and began to thrust, the rhythm of the train adding to the motion. Each jolt drove me deeper into her, and she met every thrust with a push of her own. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the small compartment, mixed with her moans and my grunts.

“I’m going to come,” I warned, my balls tightening.

“Inside me,” she begged, “come inside me, fill me up.”

I thrust one last time, burying myself as deep as I could, and came with a roar, my cum flooding her pussy. She cried out, her body shuddering as she climaxed around my cock.

We collapsed onto the narrow bed, still connected, breathing heavily. The train continued its journey through the night, rocking us gently. She turned her head and kissed me softly.

“That was exactly what I needed,” she whispered.

I stayed with her until the train pulled into Hamburg, our bodies tangled together under the thin blanket, the memory of the night etched into our skin.