“It’s called ‘Sun Woman.’ It’s by Robby McMurtry, a Native American artist,” Paul explained.
“Soooo sexy,” enthused Meg.
When they entered the last guest bedroom, Kat and Meg were confronted with so many Bettie Page photographs—dozens of them—that they had to be hung salon-style, corner-to-corner, floor-to-ceiling, interrupted only by the furniture, and the closet. Some were in color. Most were in black and white. It would indeed take a “very special guest” to appreciate it, Kat thought. Meg walked slowly into the room and scanned the walls wide-eyed. “Bettie Page! Verrry naughty!” she squealed. Then she began looking at each one individually.
“I take it you approve, slave,” Paul said.
“I love it, Master! I mean, the b**m imagery aside, she was an incredibly sexy woman, beautiful, stat
