Hotel Bonaventure

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence?” The question came out of the blue for Steven Kirkpatrick, a young businessman with just a little more arrogance than humility, with an inherent sense of entitlement as he navigated his way through the world. He was checking in to his hotel room rather uneventfully as he’d done so many times before. He was caught off-guard as he felt the presence of two people invade his personal space on both sides. He glanced nervously around as he saw the person who posed the question standing dangerously close on his left side and her companion on his right. It was Theresa and her boyfriend Carl, a couple he’d met in his hometown of Philly in an attempt to explore some of his “darker” sexual fantasies. Darker meaning he had an odd obsession with Black sexuality, more specifically he had fantasies of submitting to a sexy Black woman and her lover and being “forced” to do whatever they had in mind. They were a couple that fit that description perfectly with confidence and sensuality oozing from every pore in their bodies and more than just a little experience in manipulating and dominating submissive whiteboys. What they were doing in Montreal, in the Hotel Bonaventure for that matter, was beyond him. He glanced around nervously, afraid that people could read his mind, that they would know his dirty little secrets.

“Hey,” he said nervously, “what are you guys doing here?” His discomfort was more than apparent and his insincerity was transparent.

Carl put his arm around Steven and patted him on the back. “You told us what a hot city Montreal was and we decided to come check it out for ourselves. Who would have thought we would end up staying in the same hotel together? It really is a small world, isn’t it?”

Feeling a little more relaxed; Steven smiled and realized that no one could read his mind, that his secrets were safe. The fact that it wasn’t really a coincidence that Theresa and Carl were there, the fact that they were there to torment and push his buttons was completely lost on him. Momentarily, Steven got a quick thrill thinking about how the three of them had met, of how they had toyed with him and left him wanting more. It was a rather innocuous meeting, one in which they’d met for coffee to size each other up. He’d made promises of how he would do whatever they said, of how he was willing to become some deliciously depraved slut that would endure all sorts of sexual torments in order to fulfill his interracial fetish. For Theresa and Carl however, domination wasn’t just a pastime or a fetish, it was a way of life and they proved to be more powerful adversaries than Steven had ever imagined. They essentially told him upon meeting him that he did not meet their criteria for a submissive and they weren’t interested in him. Both pissed off and aroused by their comment, Steven went home and masturbated thinking of all sorts of situations in which he would have been made to do things that would make anyone in polite society cringe.

“Do be a dear and get our bags and bring them up to our room, won’t you Steven? We’re in room number 1705.” The casual air with which Theresa issued her command made Steven feel about 2 inches tall but there was something thrilling about the fact that she was talking to him like a servant. He felt movement in his pants and the beginning of an erection as the desk clerk offered to have the bellman bring the bags up to their room. Carl declined the offer and insisted that Steven would be more than happy to bring their bags up to their room personally. They walked off, hand in hand, leaving Steven there, dazed and confused, and outraged that they would dare to be so arrogant.

Steven hesitated, as he watched the two of them walk away, hand in hand, tempted to yell out, “Take your own fucking bags,” but he was paralyzed by the thought of bringing more attention to