The Room of Requirement

Thank you so much for your kind reviews! It is very inspirational to know folks like the story. Due to being a working Mom, updates may be a bit slow. The disclaimer in chapter one applies.

Chapter 3 Room of Requirement

She fell asleep so peacefully – unlike the recent nights of insomnia that had plagued her since the departure of her erstwhile husband. He had found himself, he told her, and this new, improved self included a supposed new and improved woman. She was a twenty-year-old blonde by the name of Candy; someone whose tits still stood at attention. Jenny had spent time looking at herself in the antique beveled glass mirror handed down to her by her grandmother. She wasn’t that bad. Sure, she was no twenty-year-old but her body was firm, she was rounded in a few places that became rounded when one was close to 40, but compared to some she was still desirable. A change had come over her since the dissolution of her ten year marriage. She had taken a hard look at herself. She was the good girl. She was the one who was taught by society and by her parents’ skewed marriage to over-function. She was pretty, educated and intelligent. In some respects she was strong, she was formidable. She succeeded in the workplace and had spoken up in class. She had the isolation in her life that came of excellence. The man she married had gotten used to being taken care of to the point where he ceased to take care of her. It didn’t help that Jenny did not know how to ask this of others or to give herself permission to be weak and less than perfect. One was supposed to take care of others, not oneself and smile, even when being shit on. If she was honest with herself, she did this to be in control. What good was it to be in control when she found herself alone? Her neat, ordered but boring life was no longer satisfying. She had longed for her husband to be assertive and take some control in the bedroom. He made love like he used the remote control – first he had to find the damn thing (usually by asking her) and then he had to figure out what buttons to press (usually the wrong ones). She suspected there was more to sex than this. She fantasized about a tall, dark man with a hypnotic voice. Her imagination could never place a face to this man but she knew he would be a bit dangerous, but would not really harm her. He would want her with an intensity and passion that she had never before known from a man, but he would be controlled. He would execute his plan to have her with finesse. HE would know what buttons to press and just how to press them to have her begging. She wanted to give up control and to lose sense of space and time and be in a place distinct from all she knew. She wanted something magical. Ok, the classic rescue fantasy – sort of. This man as an anti-hero, basically good deep down, but dodgy enough to be exciting. She had fantasized about being spanked as well. Sometimes while alone, she had masturbated thinking of what the man with the honeyed voice would say to her, pinching her own nipples hard and slapping her self on her backside. In her experimenting, Jenny had found that some slight pain, felt at the right time during her arousal, was powerfully exciting. She pleasured herself some nights and experienced a release that helped her to feel peaceful and that rid her temporarily of the emptiness and anger she had as her companions lately. This night she had gone to bed with an odd feeling. She had bathed, shaved, perfumed and put on a silken night dress. Jenny told herself she just wanted to feel beautiful and go to bed in something other than the old paint-stained, faded “Have a Nice Day” t-shirt (the one with holes in it) that she usually wore. She did this and despite an ominous sense of risk, she fell asleep well.

Sometime later, Jenny awoke as usual, thinking “damn, here I go again, and I felt so good, too” as she anticipated several hours awake listening to the traffic below her bedroom window. It took her a minute to realize that the lights that danced across her walls from the cars passing by were not there. The place was thickly quiet like a sepulcher. Faint light from candles lit unfamiliar stones and she sat up startled. She lay in a large bed with silver and green sheets and there appeared to be no one in the room. She was still dressed as before. Curiously unafraid, she got up and went to gaze out the nearby window. This window was almost floor to ceiling and she saw faint outlines of a building and stars in the darkness. She felt a funny feeling of security as if the room would take care of her. “That’s ridiculous,” she thought. How could a room take care of her? Jenny thought she must really be desperate to give a room maternal (or was it paternal) instincts. She had the sensation of emerging possibility. As such, she was completely unaware of the stealthy entry of another to this extraordinary room until, suddenly startled out of her reverie she heard a deep, smooth voice say, “Good Evening.”