The limits of Google when arranging an illicit tryst

I have an assignment.
A research assignment.
A multi-part project, researching possibilities.
For next weekend.

For a clandestine getaway.

Hotels.
Bars.
Restaurants.

But for the town we'll be visiting, I'm not coming up with what we need. At least, not when I try to search for it according to our true parameters.

Google does not recognize the word "tryst."
Nor does it want to consider "illicit."
The closest Google gets is "illegal."
And "trust."
Not quite what I was after.

"Clandestine"?
Nothing.

What I really want is a restaurant with small private rooms... red velvet drapes... a fainting couch... privacy and discretion. A place thick with atmosphere for a man whose cock is thick with desire in which he can enjoy an assortment of sensual pleasures.

Where we could count on not being disturbed if he decided to drink his champagne from the trough formed by his pet's back. And if by chance he were disturbed, he could count on the offender stealing silently away and making no comment to anyone.

If he were disturbed.

For I, of course, will be expected to maintain my focus on serving his pleasure no matter where we are or who might join us or what might happen. I will be merely one of the objects assembled to assure him a pleasurable weekend of self-indulgence.

Sometimes it is hard to really believe that. But then, when he wraps his belt around my neck, this man who isn't really into leather but likes it on me takes me to a place, to a time, to a condition... more Roman than antebellum, really, where owning another person was... I'm slipping away now as I write this... slipping back to where I was a mere 4 hours ago, as I knelt naked before him, the belt wrapped round and round my neck... my pussy is convulsing now... I can't think... can't focus... we had been apart for three weeks due to this and that... and then... I'm not supposed to use that word now... the "s" word... but I was there.

The belt around my neck, the leather, it took me there.

Tomorrow, I will be with S--.
Daddy wants me to be.
I'm to fuck him.
Please him.
Make him feel good.
And all the time see the man who owns me standing there.
Watching.
Listening.
Enjoying.

And should S-- comment on the welts left by Daddy's belt on my pale, round ass... I am to say "He whips me."