Gilbert Michaels - Society slut

"You're right."

Cordova closed the door behind her and drove quickly away, his pubic hairs splattered with drying come. It bad been well worth it.

He made sure he made good time back to where Samantha lived. It was a huge, three story mansion that sat on a hill off of the road.

It was freshly painted every three years and very well kept up. In addition to the driver, Samantha's mother also employed a cook and a butler.

Cordova parked the car in the garage. Samantha got out and met Raymond, the livened butler in the foyer that led to the huge living room.

"Welcome home. I'll take your bags to your room," he said as be bowed.

"Thank you. Is mother around?"

"She'll be down shortly."

"So will I."

Her room was exactly as she left it and she felt an immediate sense of comfort and security. Raymond deposited her bags on the floor and Samantha decided to unpack and change her clothes.

She put on some levis, a long tailed shirt and sneakers and then went downstairs, hoping that the cook could make her something to eat.

"Who are you?" she asked when she walked into the large kitchen.

The woman was young, not yet thirty and pretty.

She wore a plain light blue uniform that did nothing to disguise the fullness of her figure.

"I'm Caroline, the cook. Can I get you something?"

"What have you got?"

"There's some chicken I could heat up?"

"I'll eat it cold in here, don't bother to set the table," said Samantha. She was served and ate quietly, glancing every now and then at the cook. She was new, Samantha didn't remember her and she wondered how long she had been working for her mother.

Samantha was just finishing her snack when Martha Harding walked into the kitchen. She had married young, was widowed also while she was young and had been living off her inheritance ever since.

She was a pretty woman who had just turned forty. She exercised regularly and watched her diet to ensure that she kept her figure.

She wore a caftan and slippers and her long brown hair was hanging about her neck and shoulders. She was fond of her daughter.

"So there you are. Why aren't you in the dining room?" she asked.

"It seemed like a lot of trouble to put the cook to," answered Samantha.

"The servants are paid to get put to trouble. Oh well, welcome home," she said as she kissed Samantha lightly on her cheek.

"Thanks?"

"I imagine you'll want to take a few days to get used to the place again," said her mother who continued to stand and looked down at her.

"I'm not in a rush for anything, am I?"

"Of course not. Lets talk in the morning. I've had along day. If you want something, Caroline or Raymond will see to it."

"All right?"

"Good night?"

"Good night mother."

And that was that. Martha Harding swept out of the room while Caroline cleared away Samantha's plates and asked her if she wanted anything else.

"No?"

"I'll go to my room then," said Caroline. "You can do whatever you want as far as I'm concerned," said Samantha.

Samantha wandered around the first floor of the large house. The rooms were airy and filled with light during the day.

The place was really too big for just the two of them but Samantha knew her mother liked to entertain a lot and she could certainly afford that plus the upkeep of the place so why not.

After a while Samantha got tired of wandering around and went back to her room. She took off her clothes, put on pajamas and crawled into bed, thinking of Cordova and what it would feel like the next time he fucked her.

After she briefly saw her daughter Martha Harding returned to her bedroom which was actually a suite of three rooms.

There was an ante room or sitting room, a room where she slept and a room where she conducted elaborate toilets and where her large wardrobe was.

She lay in the middle of a double, canopied bed, her back propped up by several large, fluffy pillows. She wore silk pajamas and leafed absently through a fashion magazine.

Her daughter had been conceived more to please her late husband than anything else and while Martha didn't actually dislike the child so to put it simply, bad no use for her.

As a result, Samantha had been shuttled from one boarding school to the next until she ran out of schools to send her to.

Then she came home. Hopefully she would find a suitable mate, get married and move out, only to see her mother once or twice a year.

That would suit Martha Harding fine and she fervently hoped that she would be able to arrange a suitable marriage within a reasonable amount of time.

In the meantime however, she knew she had no choice but to put up with her and also to put up with all of the anxieties that went along with being a parent, no matter how much she tried to remove herself from them.

It would be a pain in the neck but Martha marshaled the few resolves she had and was determined not to allow Samantha to totally control her life.

It had been so long since she had been around her, she hardly knew how to act. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do?

Admittedly she had not been the best of mothers but to a great extent that was a value judgment and Martha was not going to allow herself to be trapped that way.

She sipped a large vodka and tonic before sitting it down on the night table. The room was dark except for the Tiffany lamp on the table. The bar was in the sitting room and Martha considered ringing for Caroline so she could make her another drink and then decided against it.

He walked in and was standing at the very edge of the pool of light by the foot of her bed. She never even heard him.

"We've got a problem," he said.

"Oh, it's you?"

"Yes?"

"You should have coughed or something, you might have frightened me."

"I doubt it."

"Want a drink?"

"I've already made myself one."

"Good." Martha put down the magazine and looked at the man. "Now, what's the problem?"

"It's your daughter?"

"And exactly how is she a problem?"

"We took a little detour on the way back from the airport," said Cordova.

"Sight seeing?"

"In a way. Do you know Rainbow Cove?"

"No."

"It's on the other side of the bridge, very deserted, very romantic?"

"We must go there sometime?"

"I was there with your daughter?"

"We fucked."

"She made you?"

"She told me I'd be fired if I didn't." "The little slut! She's not even home and she's spreading her legs."

"That's what I thought, too."

"Was she any good?"

"Not bad?"

"I assume she intends to work at it?"

"That was the impression I got," said Cordova as he came around so he could sit on the edge of the bed and stroke her hair.

"And why is that a problem?"

"She wants me to teach her, to satisfy her."

"My, my we are quite the stud, aren't we?"

"It's a role I'd rather not play."

"I don't blame you but I'm not sure that you have any choice in the matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's assume that Samantha is determined to find out all about the birds and the bees?"

"I think we can safely assume that."

"Well, either she finds out here or she finds out elsewhere."

"I have a name in this town that I'd just as soon keep," said Martha.

"I don't blame you."

"It would be difficult if word got around that my daughter was sleeping with everything that wore pants," she added.

"It would be very embarrassing."

"So, either she gets it here or she gets it somewhere else, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I think it would be better for everyone concerned if she got it here. That way we could keep an eye on her."

"Supervise her."

"Yes and also keep her under control."