The Room of Sexual Fantasies

Teresa entered the library and sat down at the same desk as the earlier night. Today she wore a smart navy blue business suit and flat black shoes. Her long hair was sensibly pulled back in a ponytail. The reason for her plain dress was simple. Ever since the night before her mid-terms, when someone had given her a tongue-twisting, seat-breaking, toe-curlingly good orgasm from under this desk, she had been wondering who it had been, partly because she was curious about the secret of the desk, but also because she was the kind of girl who liked to know a little about people before, or sometimes slightly after, she allowed them to have hot-and-passionate, or bored and going-through-the-motions, or even drunk-and-giggly, sex with her. Now that her term papers were completed, she had no proper work to do so she had decided it was time to find her mysterious masseur.

So she had put on her dullest shoes, her most boring fiddly-to-take-off clothes and her biggest handbag, and set off to the student library. The only way she knew to find the strange masseur, was to sit at the same desk where it had happened and tap her foot and until someone showed up. Teresa had been tapping for twenty minutes and was becoming bored, when suddenly another white card whirled onto her lap.

Did You Need To Relax Again?

Teresa tapped her foot once for yes and opened the ugly spare handbag on her knees. Inside was a long white battery-powered wand that the saleswoman down at Funny Business had cheerfully described to her as a neck massager. Then the salesperson had winked at Teresa, who promptly went red and scurried out. Teresa checked to be sure no one was watching, and quickly thrust the vibrator under the table. An unseen hand reached up to grasp it. A low whirring came from under the desk. The desk faded away, as it had done the last time, and she felt a hand touching her trouser leg questioningly. Quickly, before the hand could move away, she grabbed its wrist in a strong grip. The perpetrator tried to pull away, but she got both hands around the wrist and tugged hard. Instead of pulling the mysterious person from under the desk, she found herself yanked from her seat and sucked into the treacle-thick blackness beneath the table. There was a stretchy-bendy sensation of force, as if she were an elastic band someone was twisting to shoot with. There was a faint 'pop' and the desk stood back in the library, empty and waiting.

Teresa sat up and made a 'tch' sound of annoyance in the pitch-blackness. She could see nothing. Luckily she had been carrying her handbag and had it round her shoulder. She rummaged inside until she found her phone, clicking on its torch-beam. The thin beam of light swung around as she searched about her. She saw walls of stone, painted white, several cheap pictures hanging slightly crooked, a door, and a TV screen. At last her torch beam hit a light switch and she walked over and flicked it.

She was in a small rectangular room. Everything looked surprisingly homely for a treacle-pit under a library desk. Facing her was the TV, a plasma set on a chest; a saggy blue couch sat facing it. Thick rugs were strewn about the floor. A Dutch door to her left, painted a cheap red, led out of the room. She walked to it and rattled the handle. It was locked, so Teresa knocked politely and waited, her ear pressed against the thin wood. Through the panel, she could hear faint rustling sounds, as if someone were trying to get dressed as quickly and quietly as possible whilst listening frantically for a sign they might have been heard. Teresa rolled her eyes and gave a polite cough to break the silence.

"Hello?" she asked. "My name is Teresa. Who are you and where have you brought me?"

She waited a moment and heard an intake of breath. From inside the room, there was a scrabbling sound of papers being shifted. Something thin and rectangular was slotted under the door. Teresa picked it up, seeing it was a brochure. On the front was a slightly creased picture of a smart young woman, sitting behind a desk under the banner 'The Room of Sexual Fantasies'. Teresa instantly disliked the picture. The girl's white teeth were too small and her smile too wide and happy. The brochure was the kind of cheery support literature one might pick up at Student Services to explain all one's problems. Teresa flipped it open and read through its text quickly.

Dear resident, welcome to the Room of Sexual Fantasises (RSF). The RSF is a new meme in extra-dimensional space, materialising here through the unconscious powers of the human imagination outside space, time and other planes of reality. The Room's purpose is to house sufferers of excess Human Sexual Desperation (HSD), whenever a dangerous background level is found to have built up. If you have manifested here, you are probably suffering from a severe HSD overload and may require immediate intimate assistance to prevent harm to yourself or others*. The Room requires that you remain until a solution to your problem can be found. Please use the Room's unique erotic interactive features to make your stay as brief and pleasant as possible. Have a great time here at the Room of Sexual Fantasies, and remember you don't have to only come once!

*If this does not describe your situation or if you have arrived here by mistake please contact your local Reality Relocation service representative and request an immediate transfer back to your normal plane of existence.

"God," thought Teresa, "no wonder a link to the Room had established itself under the student library. But why did it look so much a plain old common room?"

"Hello, whoever you are?" she asked "Thanks for telling me where I am. My name is Teresa. I'm a student at Hollyoke College. May I know your name?"

There was a scribbling sound. A card with a sad face drawn on it was pushed under the door. Beneath the face was a neatly printed name:

BRADLEY

"Bradley," Teresa murmured, "That's a nice name. Bradley, I shouldn't be here? Can you help me get out?" She waited patiently, and sure enough, another card was pushed through the crack in the door.

No I am Just a Resident Here. You Need to Ask Your Genie of Magical Orgasms.

"Say what now?" Teresa asked blankly.

There was a quiet masculine-sounding cough behind Teresa, the sort of sound she always liked to hear when she was sitting by herself at an empty bar. She turned around abruptly; standing before her was a pillar of red smoke. As she watched, fascinated, it slowly coalesced into a cloudy, featureless humanoid figure.

"Good morning Teresa," the smokey red thing murmured. Though it had no lips with which to form the words, she distinctly heard them said.

"Hello," she responded warily. "Um, this might sound a little stupid, but are you my Genie of Magical Orgasms? It's kind of important."

"I am," the figure replied benevolently, "You must be a new visitor here."

"Do you have a name?" Teresa asked, bewildered. The door creaked slightly on its hinges and she could tell Bradley was listening to every word. Well let him stay there, hopping from one foot to the other since he wouldn't talk to her.

The red figure of smoke billowed slightly as if drifting in an invisible wind. Finally it spoke again, "I have never existed to need a name before," it said thoughtfully, "But I feel strangely drawn to the name of... Ken."

"Oh," said Teresa slowly, wrinkling her nose, "Well then... Ken, as I suppose you know I seem to have been brought here by accident, so if you're my spiritual guide, or whatever, can you please tell me the way to get back home? Also if you can change shape can you grow a face or something? Talking to a red cloud is kind of freaking me out a bit."

"I am given shape by your thoughts and desires," Ken answered her gravely, "Each time a new person comes to the Room a fresh genie is formed from a figment of their erotic imagination, to speak with newcomers, to help and guide them on their way through their time here. With but a small push of your mind, you can change my appearance to anything you want: a movie star, a famous musician, anyone."

"I don't think so," Teresa spoke firmly, shutting her eyes. Thinking of someone she trusted to give answers to her questions...

"An interesting choice," Ken's voice acknowledged to her, now with a clipped British accent.

Teresa opened her eyes and looked at the genie, astonished. Standing in front of her was a tall, lanky man in his middle-thirties. He had on tight crotch-hugging jeans and a plain dark turtleneck jumper. Curly dark hair fell across his face and a light dusting of stubble shadowed his chin. He looked down at her with clear gray eyes through polished steel-rimmed glasses and smiled charmingly. It was an image of Professor Bryant who stood in front of her now, the highly intelligent and hugely condescending Professor of Modern Art at Hollyoke College, whose class she had been studying for when she'd nodded off at the library and 'met' Bradley for the first time. He was loved and feared across the College in equal measure. Male students to sign up for his classes were few and hid at the back of class to avoid the Professor's stare. He chose them anyway. Female students wrote him long deep love poems; it was rumoured he'd been happily married to his first graduate student for seven years. He waltzed through life with an arrogant charm few could entirely resist.

"Oh my," Teresa murmured to herself. Then she remembered why she'd summoned Ken in the first place and pulled herself back together; "So, how do I get back home from here?"

Ken gave what sounded like a deep sigh.

"I should tell you that as your Genie of Magical Orgasms, it is within my domain to grant you any three wishes that can bring you to a kicking, screaming climax, but I have no powers beyond these walls."

"Thanks," Teresa told him indignantly, "But If you'd just been transported across time and space to an imaginary inter-planar sex room, wouldn't you want to know you could get back?"

There was a grunt behind the door where Bradley was eavesdropping; Teresa wasn't sure it was a grunt of agreement. Ken, her genie, paused, then gave a shrug. He pointed over Teresa's shoulder. She glanced back and saw a glass door had appeared in the far wall. It was marked 'EXIT' in big green letters across the front.

"You are not one of our Residents," Ken told her, "And may come and go as you please."

Teresa's lips twitched.

"What about him?" Teresa asked, jerking a thumb at the closed door beside them. Ken shrugged his shoulders.

"Bradley has an extremely bad case of HSD and is being held by the Room for his own good. His social skills are tragically terrible and he has no ability to talk to women, make friends or meet new people. Until he learns to cope in the real world, he will be kept here and used to relieve the sufferings of others on the outside. This way his hormones are periodically relieved and reduced to safe levels and his extra-planar roving keeps cases like yourself safe from the symptoms of HSD."

There was a sigh from behind the door and a white card, heavily scribbled on, practically sailed through its crack at her. Someone, apparently Bradley, had drawn a sad face with three small tears falling from one eye and had written, and heavily underlined:

Help Me!

Teresa thought for a moment.

"I don't suppose he is eligible for some kind of sex-parole?" she asked, "Only I think there might be a way we can help him on the outside."

"Oh?" Ken raised Professor Bryant's eyebrows exactly as if he had heard a wrong answer, "The Room is always open to suggestions for its inhabitants."

"The student paper at my college, the Toasty Omelet, is looking for a new sex advice columnist," Teresa informed him, "I know a guy who works on the paper. I'm sure I can swing at least a guest column for a test run. If Bradley has been doing all this work acting in people's fantasies, he must be an expert by now! Best of all he won't have to talk to anyone, he can communicate with them in writing just like he does with me. It could be the start of a whole new life for him."

"It sounds... plausible," the genie said doubtfully, "but if he is released, we must know his HSD is down to a safe level or he must remain where he is. We won't be held responsible for him outside, you know."

Teresa looked at Ken's "Professor Bryant" image and pursed her lips. Still, she was the kind of person who liked to finish what she'd started. "Fine," she said, "But after this I'm going to take you up on one of those wishes you mentioned, and it had better be good."

The genie brought his hands together in the time-approved fashion and bowed low. His image began to blur and fade.

"Kicking and screaming, oh mistress," Ken's voice promised as he disappeared from view, "Your wish is my command."

Teresa reached out and knocked softly on the half-door in front of her. Idly, she wondered whose fantasy it was to have a Dutch door in here, before deciding she didn't really care.

"Hey Brad," she said, "Are you ready to get out of here?"

There was clunk as a bolt was drawn back, and the bottom half swung open. Behind it, Bradley was wearing white sneakers and dark blue Levis. Slowly Teresa stretched her hand out and toyed with his zip, tugging it gently down. Her fingers reached inside his jeans and stroked the front of his soft cotton boxers. He began to bulge at the front; her clever hands found the button of his pants and flicked them open. Smiling, Teresa tugged Bradley's stiffening cock out and rested it in her palm. She held it gently between both hands, rolling it between her palms, feeling it grow pleasantly hard. She lowered one hand to tug his balls quickly through the opening of his boxers. With the other hand, she squeezed his cock firmly.

She heard him gasp through the door and grinned to herself.

"Do you like this?" she asked innocently, teasing his balls with her fingers. She heard another gasp and an affirmative knock, and squeezed his balls firmly. His dick was warm and rigid in her grasp now, and it twitched as she stroked it softly. Teresa paused in manipulating the penis in her hands. She lifted it idly, exploring under the head of his shaft. He had an attractive member really, medium sized, clean and tan, with a soft purple head that bulged and darkened as she pinched it softly between her fingers.

Teresa began unbuttoning her shirt one-handed, keeping her other digits busy on Bradley. Using her teeth and free hand she tugged off her jacket and blouse and unhooked her bra from behind. Her clothes fell away, revealing her breasts. Although she was proudest of her ass, which she worked out hard to keep firm and in shape, Teresa had always felt she had very nice breasts. They were as round as apples, with small pointy pink nipples that stiffened in an evening breeze and stuck through her shirts at the worst times. She knelt in front of Bradley, felt his cock hardening. A stiff cock always excited her, even if it looked strange there, floating around blindly in front of her breasts. She guided Bradley's prick gently up and stroked its dripping head in circles around her right areola, then treated it to her left one in the same fashion. She flicked its wetness between her breasts. The still-sealed top half of the door creaked as Bradley strained against it.

Figuring she'd tormented him enough, Teresa gripped him firmly in both her hands, gliding them back-and-forth along his shaft slowly and gently. Hearing his groans turn to gasps, she tightened her grip and began to speed up her milking motions. With interest, she saw Bradley's balls rise up, the sac tightening and pulling back as she moved him closer to climax. Knowing he was getting near, she leaned in, pulling him gently into her mouth. Her fingers tickled and stroked the parts of his anatomy that remained exposed. The combination of her caresses and the warm wetness of her tongue quickly brought him over the edge. She heard him gasp aloud and felt him come into her mouth with a long drawn-out shudder. Even after he'd relaxed against the door with a sigh, she continued to tease him, flicking at his sensitive spots unhurriedly with her tongue and the tips of her fingers. When his breathing gradually slowed to normal, she finally released him and swallowed. She tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped him up before she stood.

"Well," she said, patting his crotch, "That ought to keep you out of trouble for a while."

Epilogue

"Harder," Teresa ordered. There was a grunt of acknowledgment and effort. In the seat opposite, Ken shifted her foot in his lap and began to again with Professor Bryant's long and supple fingers.

Teresa sat back on the wicker chair outside the cafe and sipped her wine slowly. In front of her, well-dressed people were striding along a busy street, the traffic surprisingly light. The sun was shining down brightly from a clear blue sky, clearly illuminating the Eiffel Tower as it rose majestically over the city. Teresa closed her eyes and tilted her head back with a sigh to catch the sun.

A shadow fell across the table, blocking the sun. Teresa raised her sun glasses and looked up at a strangely familiar figure in a black and white waiter's uniform. Under his trademark ruffled blond hair, the famously handsome oval face of - regarded her with professional intent.

"Madam would you like another?" he asked her in flawless English, indicating her nearly empty wine glass with one perfectly groomed hand.

Teresa thought about this for a moment, then pulled her sunglasses back down and shook her head.

"Not right now thank you," she told him, "Maybe later."

"As you like madam," the chiselled figure murmured, and withdrew as unobtrusively as he had arrived. Teresa lay still in the afternoon sun and smiled to herself. Perhaps there were more possibilities to this Room then she'd first imagined.