employer as though she was a long time acquaintance or a life long friend.
There was an irresponsibility about him that social strata could not thwart. He drove a car for a living but there was nothing wrong with that Because he wore social attitudes very lightly Samantha felt an empathy for him. Every move, every gesture he made served to confirm Samantha's initial response. That the man had some tiger in him.
But she wondered how the daughter of the very social Martha Harding of Nob Hill went about seducing the family chauffer in order to assess his sexual qualities.
For a while they rode in silence, the car purring along, receiving envious looks from other motorists as it imperially made its way down the highway.
Having nothing better to do, Samantha decided to use the time profitably by carrying on a series of very subtle flirtations, designed to test or ascertain Cordova's sexual awareness.
She put her hand into her lap, opening her legs slightly so she could have ready access to her sex mound. Then she put her other hand on top of that.
She leaned back in the plush leather seat. A long time ago Samantha had learned how to masturbate in class while sitting like she was now.
With both hands pressed over her cunt, she arched her hips upwards and then downwards. Her lower middle finger found her clit.
By massaging it and moving her hips she was able to produce a very stimulating feeling, one that was guaranteed to get results.
She wondered if Cordova knew what she was doing. After a few minutes she was sure he did. His eyes kept on flicking into the mirror.
Was there a faint smile on his lips? Samantha couldn't be positive but she thought there was. She regarded it as a good sign.
She half closed her eyes as if she was in deep passion, her lips parting slightly, her tongue coming out a little so she could lick them.
She felt her love button erect and wetness seep through her cunt. Then, without a bit of warning, the walls of her cunt contracted.
'Ahhhh,' she said softly.
Cordova wasn't smiling any longer. He looked at her coldly, like he was sizing her up, appraising her, making mental notes of her strengths and weaknesses in case he needed it sometime.
'Did you say something?' he asked.
Samantha sat up in the seat, her tensions relaxed by the mini climax she had just experienced, wet warmth between her legs.
'Just talking to myself.'
Samantha made no effort to remove both hands from her crotch, keeping one there, liking the way it felt.
'Where did your family live?' she asked.
'On the waterfront.'
'Was he a fisherman?'
'Yes'
'Are you Spanish?'
'No, Portuguese.'
And then she asked him, 'Why aren't you fishing?'
'Common sense. My father died when he was fifty years old,' replied Cordova.
'I see.'
'He was broke and owed money and I didn't want to wind up that way myself.'
'Are you so sure you won't?'
'Well, I might die broke and I may be fifty but I won't look eighty the way he did.'
Samantha smiled. Compared to most of the people she had been associating with recently, his honestly was both real and refreshing.
She felt herself being drawn to his care free charm, his outlook on life which he had briefly told her about just a few minutes ago.
But most of all she was drawn to his sensuality that she knew was lurking beneath his tight, well fitting, tailored uniform.
She felt her clit begin to assert herself.
Is it my imagination or is it real? No, it was real, there was a sleeping tiger there and the only thing she had to do was to wake it up.
'I used to go to the waterfront too when I was a little girl,' she said.
'Oh.'
'My nanny used to take me. I remember seeing the families of the fishermen waiting for them to return. Some of the women didn't look too happy.'
'They probably weren't. A lot of fishermen don't know how to swim.'
'They were big families and they all seemed to live in small houses.'
'They did.'
'There were a lot of kids running around, dirty little things but they looked happy.'
'They were.'
Cordova played her along like a fish on a line, wondering what kind of game she was playing and was she playing with him or herself or both of them.
He wasn't sure he wanted to get too involved with her. He had heard stories and they were all the same and they all had the same ending.
The young mistress of the house comes home. She's hot and horny, gets the good looking chauffer to fuck her. The mother or father finds out and if they don't slap a law suit on you-you get fired at the very least.
And all for a piece of ass.
Still, she was a good looking girl. Cordova knew she was eighteen and how much experience could she possibly have gotten by now? Her breasts were smallish but firm and her legs long and her whole figure was willowy and he liked the way she carried herself.
She was proud and haughty but at the same time there was something else about her, another quality. Was it the quality of a bitch, a whore?
'I wondered how they ever got any privacy,' she said looking out of the window.
'What do you need that for?'
'Well, for-for…'
'For making babies?'
'Yes,' answered Samantha evenly, 'for making babies, among other things.'
'It was all quite open in our house.'
'You mean you used to watch?'
'At times it was hard not to.'
'Did it.'
'Turn me on?'
'Yes.'
'Every now and then it did but it also did something else,' he said.
'And what was that?'
'It made me realize at a very young age that a woman is a beautiful thing.'
'I think I understand what you mean.' Samantha was in no hurry to get home to the stuffy atmosphere which she knew awaited her.
Besides, she wanted to talk to Cordova some more. Who knew when the next opportunity would present itself? She had to do it now.
'Do you know a place called Rainbow Cove?'
'Yes.'
'Take me there.'
