Not many people know this about me, but I used to own and operate a BDSM-themed boutique hotel near the Canadian border, ten miles south of Blaine.
It was called the Black Rose: 26 rooms, all themed with velvet curtains and marble pillars and packed with kinky sex implements, going for $300 a night in high season. It catered mostly to Americans and Canadians, but I had lots of German, Dutch, and French guests as well. Rich people who live to fuck. Mmmmm...exactly what I like.
I guess you should know that despite what I look like, I'm not a nice girl. Oh no. Not when you get me behind closed doors. At this time, I was cheating regularly on my husband because he couldn't come close to satisfying me. (He thought I was partnering in a catering business with a girlfriend, which kept me away for days at a time--little did he know.) I had -- and still have -- an insatiable appetite for cock, but also consider myself fully bisexual. Many of my fantasies center on seducing other women, often barely out of their teens, and teaching them how to please me. Of course, I acted out many of these fantasies at the Black Rose. But I digress. God, I know what I'm going to tell you, and it gets me so wet that I wish I was masturbating right now.
I operated the hotel under the name of Mistress Rose, and what made it unique was that every guest signed a waiver form putting him or herself completely in my power for the duration of my stay. No rules but Mistress Rose's rules. I get off on power and being worshipped. What can I say? I'm a nasty girl.
The penthouse suite was called the Mistress Suite, and no one was allowed to stay there but me. Four adjoining rooms, big bay windows overlooking the surrounding forest, a four-poster California king bed, a soaker tub, TVs showing my favorite lesbian erotica, and two big walk-in closets containing my many "tributes."
Did I forget to mention that? All the guests had to bring me a tribute based on my wish list -- sometimes spa products or silk dresses, but usually to enhance Mistress Rose's deliciously commanding image. Italian leather boots. I used to hold regular jerk-off parties in the library, where the men would kneel and shoot their loads all over my boots, while the girls would be forced to get down and lick them clean afterwards. Let's see...what else? I used to own all six models of the Hitachi Magic Wand. Handcuffs and nipple clamps, of course. A complete array of leather floggers. Lots of vibrators. A French couple brought me a gold-plated dildo from Paris one year.
Needless to say, I was living my dream until the property got rezoned and sold ten years ago. But let me share a sample entry from my diary to show you what it was like in the glory days.
November 3, 1997
It's 9 pm, and I'm in the circular room in my suite that I like to call the "Voyeur's Paradise." I get off on watching my guests fuck, and I'm proud to confide that I've mastered the nasty art of invading their privacy to the full. I have a bank of 52 small TV screens, all of which display exactly what's going on in the guestrooms at all times. Every room is packed with hidden cameras and microphones; I need only flick a switch and I can see and hear everything. Delicious. Remember, they signed the waiver form.
I sip my champagne and turn up the volume on Room 16. It's occupied by Thomas and Lisa, a blonde young couple from Amsterdam. They heard about the Black Rose from another couple they met at a live sex show in the red light district.
Lisa is very, very petite, although she has nice apple-shaped tits. This morning, I zoomed in on her while she was washing up in the sink, and discovered that her pubic region is completely shaved except for a small blonde tuft at the top. She's very shy about speaking English. Thomas is much more fluent. He works as a marketing manager at the same IT company where Lisa does product testing. What a magnificently fit cyclist's body he has, I note now with approval. Right now, he's lying on top of Lisa, kissing her and stroking her body. His long, steadily stiffening prick is clearly visible against the cream-colored bedspread.
Oh my, is Mistress Rose's hand straying between her thighs again with her dark slacks yanked down to her knees? Yes indeed. But I don't just want to watch and masturbate tonight. I want to participate. I want to control and dominate. And in a house where my pleasure always, always comes first, I'm going to take exactly what I want.
I press a button that will summon two of my staff members within the next ten minutes. The hotel has five employees, two strong men and three servant girls, all subject to my command.
Meanwhile, it's time for me to dress for the occasion. I step into the walk-in closet in my bedroom and select a magnificent blue satin robe that opens in the front, emblazoned with blazing red roses. Long leather gloves in a matching red shade. My favorite black boots, thigh-high, and pointing the way to my black Calais lace crotchless panties. And then I reach for the top shelf, where I keep my extensive collection of masquerade and fetish masks. I select an exquisitely shaped gold mask that conceals the upper half of my face but leaves my beautiful mouth fully exposed. I tie the straps in place, and the two horns point upwards, representing an Assyrian fertility goddess.
