I was in a room as enormous as the others on the ground floor. I still hadn’t yet been shown up to my private quarters and a twinge of doubt puckered in my mind. Perhaps I wasn’t going to be given any and I would live out my contract in the dungeon room.

Where I had envisioned a deep scarlet, this red was opalescent burgundy, lit low by massive brass candelabra. Jay Valentine and Marc Chapelle were seated alone at one end of a long black table. The two men looked up in surprise when I entered and I thought my employer must have forgotten his order to appear before him, even though it had been made barely half an hour earlier.

“Ms Cannon, you finally made it.”

Valentine rose from his seat and came toward me, walked right past while I locked gaze with Marc Chapelle, the older man who had plundered my pussy so delectably on the flight from New York. A deep throb between my thighs as he approached. I ought to feel bad at being involved with three different men but I couldn’t push myself into it. Now with the plug thing inside me, its cold hard smoothness prevented all sense of stimulation while at the same time heightened it.

I couldn’t understand the many paradoxes of emotion rushing through me since I'd arrived at Valentine Winery. No wonder I was yo-yoing up and down. The repression of my senses brought my lust to a higher level but being bounced around between three such different characters had stretched my limits of endurance.

“Did you lose yourself?” Chapelle inquired in his low French accent that was like a smooch in my ear.

“Just a little,” I said.

My voice cracked, partly from exhaustion, part exhilaration. And then Valentine was behind me, so close to my back that I shivered deep inside my leather carcass, his hot breath curling around my neck. I shuddered as his fingertips grazed across the sensitive sides where trails of kisses always brought me to the edge, then jumped back at a constriction of a tight metal band.

He locked a choker around my throat and the restraint went into place with a satisfying finality. I reached my fingers to feel the thick metallic collar with barely a hair of ease to prevent me asphyxiating.

“Join us.”

He brought his large hand to the small of my back, an electrifying touch- the first he'd ever given me, and the briefest. He pressed me toward my seat at the table then slid up across my ribs and off my outer skin.

I took a step and was brought up short. Looking behind I saw the halter was attached to a chain with a heavy weight on its other end and that had reeled me back in. Very tentatively I moved forward to the outstretched chair, the two men staring at me with eyes that gouged right through the casing of leather around my body. I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, at his right side, opposite Chapelle.

The choke-chain weighed just enough to restrain me and remind me I was not master of my own movements. It reached exactly as far as the chair being proffered me and pulled me up in its halt. Had I wanted to reach out towards my boss, the chain would have pulled me back hard. Valentine was absolutely determined to run no risk of being touched.

He poured me a glass of Vals, his signature champagne, and the cold bubbles immediately effervesced though my parched body, making me giddy.

What the hell was going on here? Was I to be Valentine's pet as well as design his winery, or was I some sort of prisoner in his castle? All I could be sure of was that this was no game, as I'd been playing with Josh back in New York the past couple of months. Valentine was playing seriously hard and not at all safe.

And yet I felt incredibly secure and almost- pampered. The two men looked at me with something like adoration and admiration, as well as desire in waiting. It was me, not Delilah or any of the other 'crew' she'd mentioned, who was seated at the table to dine with them. And it had obviously displeased her enormously that I’d been selected.

A white-gloved manservant appeared to serve us a first course of oysters on the half shell with a delicious spicy liquor, made from a light Sauvignon grape, if I had to guess. I had attended some wine-tasting seminars before coming out to Napa. I remember Josh had been pissed at that – saying there was no need to ingratiate myself so much with the boss.

Whatever the two men wanted of me, it seemed I had so far passed whatever tests they were putting me through. And strangely enough, I was eager to pass them. I wished now that I had opened the slits covering my breasts and dined with them exposed to their admiring gaze.

As I raised the last sliver of wet flesh from the half shell to my lips, another invigorating shudder waylaid me so that I almost dropped the ivory handled silver fork. I reached out to grip the chair at my left side and rode the waves of arousal, trying not to gasp and pant. As they diminished, my body kicked back with a series of intense pulses that made my heart pound its way up through my breastbone.

With a sensation of bubbles rising to my head, the climactic pulse wore off and glorious warm bliss infused my skin. Once it dissipated, I saw how Valentine and Chapelle watched me fascinated, before immediately returning to their business conversation. How many more rides to the brink would I have to endure before being allowed relief?

The serving man returned with a platter of small, sweet lobster tails and perfect fillet mignon. His blithe look of non-awareness at the dog collar and chain restraining one of the guests said he was a very well-trained servant. He brought the crystal decanter of red wine to the table and poured for the men. Jay Valentine lifted it to pour my glass himself.

As dinner wore on, the feeling of exhilaration began to crumble when neither of the men addressed a single word to me or noticed me again. They continued with their talk of vats and sugar content while I was ignored as though I was a pet at the table.

I wondered whether that was part of the test – to see whether my sexual appetite was voracious enough to continue through endless with-holding. It was only when the plates had been removed and the massive candelabra remained on the table with the glasses for port, that Jay Valentine remembered my existence.

“Climb up onto the table,” he commanded in a smooth but commanding tone.

With no idea how I was supposed to 'climb' in the tight skirt that forced my thighs together, bound as no Victorian bustle ever had, I stood and placed my ass on the edge so as to swing my legs around. I was seated on the wide surface with legs outstretched in front, wondering whether either of them would unzip the huge fastening preventing me from opening my legs, when I realized the chain around my neck would not extend far enough for me to stand on the table.

“Lie down,” Valentine barked, glaring ferociously until I did as I was told with more haste.

As soon as I was on my back, Valentine pulled back the zippers across each breast, the teeth grazing across the peaks so that I gasped as my nipples popped up hard. He cupped each mound to wrestle the flesh from its slashed opening. My breasts pointed erect to the ceiling, which I now noticed was painted with a fresco of copulating satyrs and maidens.

Christ, what sort of business meetings went on in here? I guess the case could be presented that wine and women had always been close compatriots for lusty male masters. We could use a song right now. To distract me from my trembling hunger if nothing else. I could have lain on my back, lost in unraveling the multiple limbs and lips wrapping around each other in the painting. It was a pictorial manual for every position known to the human body, downgrading the Kama Sutra to a 101 beginners guide by comparison.

“Bring in the dessert, Manuel,” Valentine told the immaculate manservant.

He soon returned with a silver tray, bearing a luscious creamy concoction that he carefully spooned onto my nipples. Being carefully not to touch them with the metal, he let the mixture fall onto my engorged point. My core clenched with the images of Valentine and Marc lapping their sweet treats from the tips of my breasts, both suckling the tips and licking them clean in unison. The sticky substance smothering the peaks sent shivers through every cell as I waited patiently to be lapped clean.

Marc's masculine soft gravel voice filled my ears as he explained his concept for new varietals and length of time in the barrel while I lay silent, straining to hear Valentine's rare response. Untangling the bodies in paint above me and marveling at the new variations I was learning about, that had nothing to do with grapes.

Another shattering emanation deep inside my pussy shook my naked breasts like two pavilions in an earthquake until the soft creamy substance shivered and dribbled lasciviously down the sides. I bit down to prevent a scream as the convulsions rocked through my core, then lay panting with my bare breasts heaving with the urge to explode.

“You have done exceptionally well, Ms Cannon,” after an age, Valentine addressed me without turning his head in my direction. “You may go to your room now and I will speak to you in the morning.”