The room was dimly lit and the five hung, in a line, manacled to the wall. They wore only their underwear. The young men were toned with muscles rippling from stomach to groin. Two wore silk boxers, two – tight designer label briefs which accentuated the form of their aroused manhood. Beside them, the lone girl wore matching bra and knickers – of honest design with a delicate lace trim detail. The brassiere was underwired and pushed her fulsome breasts together creating ample cleavage. The knickers were of a modest cut, satin which was softer and smoother than vestal skin to touch. Blood red, the undies complimented the girl’s skin tone – icy white with a subtle tinge of blue; reminiscent of the frozen landscape outside. Not that the five could see outside for they were in what the hotel called a fantasy suite which, sound proofed, had no windows and was a world unto itself. They were blindfolded. The dungeon was sparse and eerily silent except for their laboured breathing – for each wore a gag. They waited. Confused. Wondering what was going to happen next.
The Hotel Eden
At the foot of a chilled mountain, nestled amongst pine forests cloaked in crisp white snow, is a castle which is modest by castle standards – rather resembling a manor house with grand ambition. This castle stands graciously in a clearing where virgin snow sparkles in the watery sunlight. And the muffled silence is thick with promise. The entrance way, which is rarely used, is of carved granite stone and, with the sills of the vast array of half fan and rectangular windows, draws the eye as all else is anaemic monotone – hues of the purest, palest greys with tinges of blue sparkling as the icicles that hang seductively far above. The architecture of this building defies formal classification – it is a hybrid structure of whimsy and delight with turrets, gables and a rooftop walk way, with crenelated stones, affording views of unparalleled, stark whiteness.
This building was borne of a man who made his fortune through the plundering of heritage from far-flung lands; an unscrupulous fellow who, afraid of losing his wealth, withdrew from society – building himself a home that his contemporaries thought a folly. For the castle is miles from civilisation and its original owner rattled around its vast interior alone – albeit for a skeleton, pasty skinned staff. When he finally passed, for he lived an isolated existence for many years in his frozen foible, the castle remained forgotten and empty for decades, prior to being purchased at auction, by an undisclosed someone who mysteriously placed a sealed bid. This someone worked for an exceedingly rich other whose plan it was to open an establishment, for those of unlimited means – dedicated to exquisite pleasure.