Efficient as ever, Cicero steps forwards to open it for me. Not for the first time, I admire the sight of his deliciously taut buttocks, and the way they roll and tense enticingly beneath the skintight leather of his trousers as he moves. My fingers itch to reach out and give his firm flesh a squeeze, or even a pinch, but I distract myself by flicking out my fan. Propelled by his strong arm, the door swings smoothly open, and as he steps back to let me pass, I swear he winks at me. A second later, his face is a picture of innocence. Oh, but my Cicero is a prime specimen! My tall dark companion is the perfect body servant. He has the face of an angel, he keeps himself in supreme condition and he knows what I want before I know it myself. Hiding a smile, I congratulate myself for having selected him. It helps, of course, when one’s mother is the Matriarch of all the Islands, and one always gets first pick of the annual crop up from the farms. My heavy-figured satin skirts swish around my thighs and bottom as I sweep into the room, and I imagine Cicero, behind me, dreaming of what’s beneath them.
