In the morning I ate breakfast alone in the crew quarters with some of the guys working in the vineyards. When Delilah strutted into the room and stood at the top of the long table with a withering glance just for me, I wasn't in the mood for her orders.

“Here you are, fooling around with the pickers when Mr Valentine has been waiting for you twenty minutes,” she snapped, her arms, as ever, folded across her erect bosom.

The guys all looked down at their eggs as though they held the secret to endless blow jobs, praying she didn't turn her Nurse Ratched gaze on them next. Screw the domme.

I took a leisurely final gulp of the delicious Italian coffee- everything Valentine presented was top quality even for the worker crew- then slowly ambled to my feet.

“Lead on MacDuff,” I said. “Have a great day in the fields boys. Enjoy the freedom of the open air.”

I followed behind as we wove our way through various hallways, me struggling to keep up with Delilah's frogmarch even in a much less restrictive skirt than the one I'd worn last night. She led me down a flight of stairs. The temperature dropped drastically and I knew we were underground.

“The door at the end.” Delilah pointed a red talon down a hall I finally recognized.

She turned on her exquisite stiletto heel and retreated back down the passage, leaving me tremoring as I walked to the door, sure of what to expect. Valentine and his aide, Marc, waiting in the dungeon for another round of punishment.

A combination of fury and exhilaration rattled through me, leaving me nothing but confused as to how to align the extremes of emotion. How dare they treat me like a slave 24/7 and not even allow me the chance to show my professional capability? They had flatly ignored me at dinner last night as though I was a decorative toy for the table.

And yet that had been so riveting, I'd shuddered through every climactic throb the E-stim delivered to my pussy. Then when I'd removed the vibrating plug, the emptiness was so acute, the temptation to pleasure myself with all my fingers had been almost too much to bear.

Steeling myself to show no awakening for the games Valentine had in store for me, I shoved the door open aggressively. Expecting the iron weight of the dungeon door, I stumbled through with a jolt when it threw back on itself rattling the bank of bottles behind.

Valentine looked up from his discussion with one of the winery workers with a flicker of surprise at my passion. He signed the paper the man held out for him, his eyes stapled to me. The worker quickly disappeared as I strode across the cement floor, trying desperately not to hyperventilate. Jay Valentine looked absolutely stunning. Still unshaven from the previous day, the stubble making his face even more rugged divine. He was wearing a razor thin black cashmere sweater that sculpted the abs across his torso to great advantage.

“Morning, sorry if I'm late. I guess I didn't get the memo regarding the meeting,” I quipped.

Valentine almost smiled in amusement at my breezy tone, but as I strutted across the cement in my five inch Choos, taking a page from Delilah's book of domination his face became hot rod iron.

“You are to report to me every morning at nine unless I give you permission otherwise is that understood?” he barked.

What the fuck? I was nothing but the dog around here. Games were fun and all except that I was a professional with a job to do and did not appreciate being treated like a slave all day long.

“Just get it over with,” I snapped.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just get it over with. Whatever you're leading up to, whatever torture you're about to inflict, just do it now because I have a job to do here, or so I imagined.”

“Ms Cannon, I wanted you down here to sample some of my product while we talk through the plans for the new building,” he burred, smooth and in total control of himself. The exact opposite from me. “But if that plan does not meet with your approval, let me know.”

“No, I mean yes, of course. That sounds great.” Oh my sweet lord I was on the next private jet outta here if I kept misfiring like this.

“Where we're standing is the oldest part of the winery. The barrels are all French oak, imported from a vineyard in St Emilion and used to finish off the aging of a very small batch that I bottle as the reserve vintage.”

He opened a tap on the end of a massive golden wood barrel, striped deep red in patches where the wine had seeped into the grain over the years. He let a small amount of the liquid escape into a chalice and swirled it in the bowl. Then he handed me the small cup and the brush of his fingers sent white light searing across my brain cells. I took generous slug from the cup to compensate and almost spewed it back out at those gorgeous flexing ripples of his chest. Valentine laughed at my screwed up face as I forced myself to swallow the vile tasting mess.

“Battery acid, right?” he said. “In future you'll spit in the gully.”

He indicated the channel cut into the cement floor beneath the barrels for that purpose.

“Why does it taste so disgusting? Is this a bad batch?” I tried not to splutter.

“Quite the reverse. I'm expecting a very good vintage from this harvest. All wine tastes that disgusting, at least to a novice, in the early stages. The acidity levels adjust during the in-barrel fermentation process- it's the skill of the winemaker that brings forth delectable nectar, or box vinegar.”

His eyes never left mine as he spoke, his words taking on an entirely different meaning.

“What seems bad at first taste can mature into something great.”

His burrowing stare delved further into me and my chest started to heave slightly as my heartbeat quickened and air became scarce. Valentine was searching deep inside me and I wanted him so bad I was that close to reaching up my hand to touch his rigid broad chest.

It was bizarre to think that we only met yesterday, when I felt as comfortable and secure with him as though we'd been together a decade.

“Once you become accustomed to the flavor, you'll learn to appreciate the nuances that are the foundation of greatness.”

His eyes were twinkling as he taught me his business, not without a modicum of irony for the other flavor I was still learning to appreciate. Good grief, I'd only known him a day and he already had plundered deep into my intimate soul and yet that also felt completely natural. Maybe his plan was to build me too into one of his great vintages.

We moved along the row of sturdy old barrels, Valentine pouring a small taste at each stage, teaching me the basics of wine-making. That lesson was made more intriguing each time he touched me lightly in the small of my back to move me down the line. His hand on me was so supporting, even that instant was a poignant flare that coursed through my veins.

“Where are your family,” he suddenly asked, surprising me with a move to the personal.

“I, er, don't really have any. A couple of cousins in Vermont I never see,” I deferred the real, more painful truth but Valentine was looking at me, in his delving way and waiting for more.

“No siblings?” he prompted when I bit my lip to stop the pain from rising.

“Only child.”

He watched the grief racket around inside me. As usual it was a massive effort for me to hold it in place and prevent it spilling into something uncontrollable. Then he made another pour from a much smaller barrel and handed me the cup.

“A cognac, quite special in California,” he said. “Brandy is known as burnt wine traditionally, so quite therapeutic for calming the embers.”

I supped the warming nectar grateful for his understanding recognition of what I was going through. Valentine waited for me to experience its relaxing properties before gently leading me to the bottling section. He introduced me to the crew, letting go of the agonizing subject of my family. With another rest of his hot palm in the small of my back, he guided me to the stairwell. There, we climbed back above ground to look at the area that was to be the new tasting room.

“I'm afraid I shall have to leave you as I have plans for lunch already, but come to my office at four and show me the design.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with only the tiniest hint of sass.