The Escape Room
"He's the last customer of the night. The owner locks up without checking—and now they're trapped until morning. The only way to pass the time is to play her private game. No one escapes until she's satisfied."
"Shit."
The owner stared at the door, then at me, then back at the door.
"What?"
"The lock. It's—" She pulled again. Nothing. "It's a security feature. Magnetic seal. Engages automatically at midnight."
"So open it."
"I can't. Not until the timer resets." She checked her phone. "At 6 AM."
I looked at my watch. 12:03.
"We're stuck here for six hours?"
"We're stuck here for six hours."
Her name was Monica.
Owner of "Mind Games Escape Room"—four themed rooms, one harried staff, a business struggling against chain competition.
Two hundred and ninety pounds. Fifty-three years old. Exhausted from a long day of watching people fail at puzzles designed for teamwork.
"This is my fault," she said. "I should have done a sweep before locking up."
"I should have left earlier."
"Blame later." She sighed. "For now... want a drink?"
She kept whiskey in her office.
"For difficult customers," she explained, pouring two glasses. "You're not difficult, but the situation is."
"Do you always drink with customers?"
"I don't usually get locked in with customers." She handed me a glass. "First time for everything."
We drank in uncomfortable silence.
Then she said: "Want to try a room? Private session. No timer pressure."
"What's the point without a timer?"
"The point is killing six hours." She smiled. "And I have a room most customers don't know about."
The hidden room was in the basement.
No sign on the door. No listed theme. Just Monica's key and a knowing look.
"I built this for myself," she said, opening it. "When I need... release."
The room was small. Intimate. Decorated like a boudoir from another century—velvet chairs, candlelight, a chaise lounge that dominated the space.
"What's the puzzle?"
"The puzzle is me." She closed the door. "The solution is making me come. The escape... is when I'm satisfied."
"You're serious."
"Completely." She leaned against the wall. "I built this business to give people adventures. But I never have adventures myself. I'm always running things, fixing things, worrying about rent."
"And you want an adventure tonight?"
"I want you to try to escape." She started undressing. "And I want to make it as difficult as possible."
"What if I just wait until 6 AM?"
"Then you wait." Her dress fell. "Or you could play the game."
The game was complex.
She gave me clues—hints about what she liked, whispered directions, sounds of approval or disappointment. I had to solve her like a puzzle.
"The first lock," she explained, "opens when you make me moan. Not speak—moan."
I kissed her neck. Explored with my hands. Found the spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.
"Mmm—" The sound escaped before she could stop it.
"Lock one," I said. "What's next?"
Lock two required an orgasm.
I worked for it. Mouth between her massive thighs, tongue searching for the right combination. She gave hints—shifts of her hips, pressure from her hands, whispered numbers that corresponded to intensity.
"Three means harder," she gasped. "Seven means right there—seven—"
I found the combination. She came with a shudder that shook the chaise lounge.
"Lock two." She was panting. "Two more to go."
Lock three was penetration.
"Find the angle," she commanded. "The one that hits exactly right."
I tried different positions. Different depths. She rated each one on a scale I couldn't understand—colors, maybe, or temperatures.
"Warmer," she'd say. "Colder. Burning. Burning—"
When I found it, she screamed loud enough to trigger the room's speaker system.
"Lock three." She was crying from pleasure. "Final lock."
"What is it?"
"Make me forget the business. Make me forget the stress. Make me forget everything except this moment."
I gave her everything.
Not puzzle-solving—presence. Kissing her face, her neck, her breasts. Telling her she was beautiful. Moving inside her while looking in her eyes.
"Let go," I whispered. "Just feel."
"I can't—the business—the bills—"
"They'll be there tomorrow. Right now, there's only this."
She let go.
Came harder than any of the previous times. Crying and laughing and clutching me like I was the only real thing in her constructed world.
"Final lock," she sobbed. "You escaped."
6 AM
The magnetic seal clicked open.
We were dressed again, sitting in her office, finishing the whiskey.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For playing the game. For solving the puzzle." She kissed my cheek. "For giving me an adventure."
"Do I get a prize?"
"The prize is—" She thought about it. "A lifetime membership. Anytime you want to play my private room. Free."
"That's a valuable prize."
"You're a valuable player." She squeezed my hand. "Come back soon?"
Three months later
I'm at Mind Games twice a week.
Help with the business sometimes—marketing, repairs, the things she hates dealing with. But mostly I just play her private room.
"New puzzle tonight," she announces.
"What is it?"
"It's called 'Move In With Me.'" She smiles. "Only one solution. Wonder if you can find it."
I find it easily.
Some puzzles solve themselves.
Some escapes lead exactly where you want to go.