Catherine's Girl

Approaching the garage adjoining the mansion, Martin rolled down his window and slid the panel door to the garage up with his remote. "Remember, do what she says."

"Got it."

Martin parked the Escalade next to the limousine inside, lowered the garage panel, and opened a door leading into a cozy parlor. "Please wait here until Mrs. Roman can see you." He reverted to his role as Mrs. Roman's chauffeur. Closing and locking the door to the garage, he crossed the room, took the three steps leading up to another entrance, and passed quietly through that door.

On the right wall, sunlight shone brightly through a large circular window about four feet in diameter, another four feet above eye level. Beneath the window sat a large leather couch. A massive mirror, framed in filigreed gold, dominated the opposite wall with a small couch beneath it. End tables with lamps flanked both couches. Three floor lamps each stood beside wingback chairs. Although magazines were scattered about the room, the chaos looked suspiciously orderly.

Sure enough, the newest issue of W, crammed with pictures of beautiful women in sensual outfits, seemed strategically placed to catch my eye. I sank into the leather couch to savor my treasure. My mouth watered while I turned the pages.

Spotting another issue of W, I gobbled up its visual treats. I flipped through several issues of Vogue, then Cosmopolitan. The Cosmo models looked too young for my tastes. But all of the women, especially those in slinky outfits, turned me on.

When my rampant horniness crested, the door at the top of the stairs swung open, and Mrs. Roman dramatically stared down at me.

She outshone all of the two-dimensional magazine illustrations. Although she wore black in mourning for her late husband, I doubt Peter Roman would have approved of the seductive glisten of her dress, clinging to and highlighting every delicious curve of her body, especially her breasts and rear end. She held a pair of long gloves and a diamond necklace.