The Winery

[Rooter48]

THE WINERY
"It's been here over a hundred years," Mike explained as he twisted a heavy brass key in
the oversized lock. The heavy door was set in a redwood wall that fit the entrance to the cavern.
The lock yielded with a decisive Ka-chunk. "This is the first cellar that old Santonelli constructed.
He found this cave and improved it. Look at that wood. Donna remarked to herself that the
tasting room manager really was a nice guy.
Mellow from all the wine that she had tasted and from the warmth of the Northern
California afternoon, Donna took comfort in the heavy iron bolt heads, the darkened grain, and
the encroaching lichen. "You can't find that anymore," Mike remarked as he lovingly touched an
ancient fitting. A special visit to the old founder's first wine cellar seemed an appropriate way to
wile away an afternoon. All by herself on this vacation from parenthood and other family
obligations, she didn't have to be anywhere any time soon, and she was happy for this tiny
diversion. Donna was glad that she had worn the light dress instead of jeans. As convenient as
long pants were, she wore them every day back home and the vacation was an opportunity to
dress up, just a little. The winery sign mentioned tasting room and she had never seen one. Donna
had the small bar to herself and she sampled every wine they had. Now she was being treated to a
backstage tour.
Mike pulled the door open, reached inside to switch on a light, and stepped back. Donna
walked inside tentatively and was immediately drawn to the darkness of the ceiling.
"I can see why it would be good for a cellar," she said. "Nice and cool."
"Yes, " Mike answered. "And we try to keep it that way." He pulled the great door closed
and Donna heard another Ka-chunk as he threw the bolt home.
The dark room reminded Donna of something out of a cartoon or a movie with dark walls
and an old workbench with ancient tools along one side. Towards the back were a wood barrel on
cradle bore the name "Santonelli - Sonoma." A large table occupied the center of the room. The
rich combination of old wood and old wine made Donna feel like she was time traveling.
"This is wonderful," she told Mike. "Is all this stuff that old?"
"Probably only the workbench. The table we brought in here with the idea of making it a
lunch room for the workers. But they'd rather eat with the tourists."
"What do you use it for now?" Donna ran her fingers over the rough planks of the table
and noted some small brackets on the top. She saw decoration just like that at a steak house the
other evening. Quaint.
"Special occasions." Mike leaned against the work bench and folded his arms. He was
pleasant looking man with salt and pepper hair and carefully trimmed moustache. Donna found
him attractive. But she quickly spotted his ring and gave him no further thought in that regard.
Still, in the quiet and dark of the cave, the situation did present a taste of adventure. Just one
more new and enjoyable sensation for a thoroughly pleasant afternoon.
"So, you have parties in here? Receptions?"
"Yeah, sort of. Go take a look at that cask. Feel the wood. We think it dates to 1910."
Donna left the table and stood at the side of the cask to run her fingers over the side.
"Yes," she noted, "and the smell. Exquisite."
"That cask has some special wine," he explained. "It's not for sale. I can let you taste
some, but you can't take any with you. It's for the family only."
"Sure," she answered, "but I don't know how good a judge I will be now after everything
I've tried."
"It's quite special." Mike went to a cabinet, opened it and removed a clean glass. He
walked to the side of the cask and pulled on a wood handle. Dark fluid filled the glass and he
pushed the handle closed. "Try this. Remember how I told you to do it."
Donna took the glass and held it to her nose and swirled it as she had been shown. In the
tasting room, the glasses had been much smaller. The ritual of wine tasting was not widely
practiced in Arkansas, so he felt as if she were the acolyte attending a closely held ceremony. The
red wine did have a comforting aroma. She lifted the glass to her lips and tasted.
"Mmmmm," she said, "now that is special." She leaned back against the edge of the table
and closed her eyes to revel in the wine's effect. It doesn't get much better than this, Donna
thought to herself. No one at the school or down at the mall would understand. I could get used
to this very easily. Very easily.
Donna opened her eyes and naturally looked up. Accustomed to the dark now, she picked
out a detail above she had missed before.
"What's that?"
"Oh," Mike answered, "just the gantry to move casks in and out. See here is the block and
tackle." He stepped over to the side and pulled away an heavy oval device with ropes leading up.
"A pulley," Donna offered, still half sitting against the table and toying with her glass. She
took another sip and let the wine have its way with her.
"Yes, but in this case, it's a block and tackle. It allows one person to lift fairly great
weights very easily." He pulled on the rope and the rest of the lines fed through the block until it
hung at the height of her head.
"Fascinating. And what's that?"
"This strap? Just another way to hook onto something. See, it's just like a belt."
"That's a thick piece of leather. Never seen a belt like that. It's a lot shorter than a belt."
"Well, it has to hold a lot of weight." Mike lifted the strap to his nose and he sniffed. "I've
always liked the smell of leather myself. How about you?"
"Yes I do," Donna replied, "but I don't own too many things made out of leather." Then
followed a flood of information from Donna about her wardrobe, her life, her divorce, making
ends meet and how precious this vacation was. The wine had loosened her tongue considerably.
She felt as if she were describing someone else, someone on TV or in a book. She took another
sip.
Mike smiled and nodded while playing with the strap. He slipped one end through the
buckle, fastened it, tested it with his weight, unfastened it, and fastened it again. As he did this,
Donna found a certain pleasure in the way the leather resisted his weight, how the thick brown
material was such a contradiction to human skin. It was so powerful while being so passive.
A sound at the door caused a small surprise. The lock turned, the bolt rolled back and the
door opened. A woman, shorter than Donna pushed her way in, but further details were obscured
by the flood of light from outside.
"I saw you come down here," she said. "I wanted to make sure you didn't give away all
the reserve."
"Hi," Mike answered. "Donna, this is my wife Carol. Carol, Donna. Donna is from
Arkansas."
"On vacation? Welcome to Santonelli."
"Hi," Donna replied, pushing herself away from the table to her feet, a bit unsteadily. She
nervously adjusted her glasses and put the wine glass on the table.
"You look very nice," Carol said. "Most of our tourists are in shorts and tee shirts." Carol
was Mike's age and tied her long black hair neatly in back. She shared a little of Mike's gray and
she had that healthy California look. With her light blue western style shirt, blue jeans and cowboy
boots, she could have just come in from the barn. Mike stood to one side toying with the block
and tackle arrangement. Carol asked Donna a few questions about where she was headed (up the
road), where she would stay (wherever I find a place) and when she was going home (never, if I
can help it).
"That's the kind of vacation to have. Well, we're happy you thought to share it with us.
Did you like the wine?"
"Yes, it's wonderful." Carol was someone Donna could get to like.
"Oh, what a pretty color polish," Carol remarked and she reached for Donna's hands.
Donna was taken aback slightly, but Carol's warm hands and the wine made the contact
acceptable.
"You've done a very nice job on them." Carol looked up at Donna and smiled. "Working
here, it's impossible for me to keep a nice manicure." Carol brought Donna's hands up and
together so that they were prayer-like and rubbed them while she smiled approvingly. Suddenly,
Carol slid her hands quickly and confidently to Donna's wrists in a move so carefully rehearsed,
Donna didn't realize what was happening.
The next thing that Donna was aware of was the leather strap tightening around her wrists
and Donna found herself bound to the block. Disbelief, shock and fear took over. The scene took
on a dream-like quality, like an automobile accident or a fall.
"What are you doing!" she screamed. "Let me go!" She started to run, but the heavy block
would only let her go a step in any direction. She pulled against the strap and twisted her hands,
but the restraint had been cinched up around her wrists expertly and there was no escape there.
She dropped down to add her own weight to the struggle. That only resulted in being on her
knees with her hands high over her head. Mike and Carol had stepped away and were watching
her calmly.
"What are you doing?" Donna cried. "What do you want? Please don't hurt me! My
children! Please don't hurt me! Oh God! Oh Gawwwwwwwd!"
"Don't worry Donna," Carol said calmly, "I'm not going to hurt you. Nobody wants to
hurt you."
"Let me go! Let me go! Pleeeeeease, let me go!" She hung her head and sobbed.
Carol bent close to Donna's ear. "Don't worry Donna. We're not going to hurt you. You
are going to enjoy this."
Donna could feel Carol's hand on her face. Carol's lips tasted the tears. Her tenderness
was small comfort, but it was something. Donna wanted something, anything to tell her she was
going to be all right. Donna hung from the block on her knees while Carol crouched down and
soothed her with soft words and light caresses. Carol positioned herself directly in front of Donna
and took her face in her hands. She looked directly into Donna's eyes.
"Donna, honey, I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand? I'm not going to hurt
you."
Donna just stared.
"Do you believe me?" No answer. "Donna, do you believe me?" Carol stroked Donna's
face slowly, wiping each tear.
Donna looked into tender, caring brown eyes. Slowly, Donna began to relax. Her fear
gave way to curiosity and the curiosity gradually became the beginning of trust. The tears
stopped. Donna felt Carol's hand touch her hair, tentatively, carefully. Carol moved closer and
closer.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Donna," she said. "Just look into my eyes. You can see that
I'm telling you the truth. No one is here to hurt you. This is going to be very, very enjoyable. I
promise. Do you believe me?"
Donna didn't know what to say.
"Do you believe me?" she repeated.
Then Carol did something shocking to Donna. Carol moved closer and placed her lips on
Donna's open mouth. She pulled Donna closer and began to kiss the prisoner. Desperate for
escape, Donna focused on the kiss and soon found herself submitting to Carol's lips. Then Donna
remembered what it was like to be kissed with such tenderness. Certainly no man in years had
treated her this way. It was a kiss of giving, not of taking. A kiss of joining, of union. A kiss of
passion. Donna was surprised at the joy she began to experience and she wanted to kiss Carol
back. Donna melted as Carol's tongue began to probe into her mouth.
Donna's limited and less-than-fulfilling experience with men included only one good kisser
(not her ex). Carol was better than he was, at least in memory. Donna tentative responded with
her own tongue and Carol seized it with her lips, pulling and sucking. Donna forgot her hands
over her head and the hard floor under her knees as she tumbled into the warm, wet sensuality.
Carol pulled Donna to her, going deeper, deeper, licking, exploring. She took Donna's face with
both her hands and they parted.
"You are so beautiful, Donna," she whispered. "You have such soft skin."
Donna leaned forward for Carol's mouth and Carol met her again with more wet kissing.
Carol pressed her body against Donna's and Donna's breasts and hips warmed as her arousal
grew. Then Carol broke away again leaving Donna staring wide-eyed, expectant and moist.
"Here," Carol said, "let me get you off the floor." She turned slightly in Mike's direction
and nodded slightly. Donna heard the block crank felt leather dig into her wrists. She grasped at
straps with her hands to help take the weight. Up, up she rose until she was again on her feet, but
Mike didn't stop there. He pulled her onto her toes then more until she swung freely, her full
weight on the straps. Carol firmly held her waist to keep her from swinging. She cried out at the
pressure on her wrists and she started to kick.
"No, no, no, sweetie," Carol corrected, "I've got you. No one is here to hurt you."
"It hurts though."
"Just for a minute, honey. Just for a minute."
Then the pulleys stopped and Donna felt Carol push against her and she heard the wheels
of the gantry moving above her. Carol and Mike were moving the block and tackle and Donna
back until she felt a hard edge of the table back against her legs.
"A little higher?" Mike asked.
"Yes," Carol answered, "just a bit." More pulley sounds and the edge of the table was
behind Donna's knees. "Good."
Carol then reached up under Donna's long summer dress causing Donna to gasp in shock.
The woman expertly ran her hands up Donna's legs, up over her cotton briefs. She hooked her
fingers over the elastic of the waistband and quickly tugged down.
"What are you doing?" Donna shouted. "Please don't. Please."
"I told you honey, we're not going to hurt you." In a trice, Carol had Donna's panties
around her ankles and she worked them completely off. Carol stood in front of Donna and pushed
on her chest. More gantry sounds and the pulleys again. As Donna went back, she felt herself
drop until she was not quite on her back on the table, hands still bound over her head, legs
hanging over the end of the table. Carol knelt down out of sight and Donna felt her grab her
ankle. Donna kicked but she felt what seemed like a hard strap trap her. The other ankle was soon
in its own leather prison.
Carol stood and stepped up and took Donna's hands. More pulley noises and Carol
lowered Donna onto the table. Donna found herself stretched across the cold wood and the first
thing that came to mind was the tales of inquisitors breaking on the rack. Visions came to mind of
women sobbing out confessions of witchcraft. This is what it must have been like before the pain
started. Before the pain there was control, a total exercise of power. The torturers wouldn't
accept a confession as truly repentant until after extreme pain.
Carol worked on the strap around the wrists and then bent over Donna and smiled."There
you are sweetie. Is that better?"
"Let me go, please."
"No, honey, we can't do that now. The best is yet to come."
Carol disappeared and Donna twisted her head to follow her. She and Mike were out of
view though. All she could see was the darkened ceiling and the block and tackle with its heavy
ropes now limp. Carol and Mike murmered to one another in familiar tones. They were doing
something and Donna tried to make out the sounds. Soft rustling like blankets or sheets.
Something harder, but small. Utensils? Is that a dish? Her mind raced. She craned her neck for
some clue. Carol appeared in front of her with a soft smile.
"Just relax sweetie. I think you are going to enjoy this."
Donna noticed Mike at her feet, looking down on her with a big grin, a big excited grin.
He reached down and took the hem of her dress and lifted it slowly. Donna felt the cool air reach
her naked skin. His eyes dropped to what he had just revealed.
"Ah, beautiful," he said. "How many children have you had? Three?"
"No!" Donna cried, "Please, no!"
"You have taken care of yourself. Look honey, she keeps herself trimmed."
Carol moved and peeked under the dress and Donna saw her eyes brighten.
"Very nice," Carol said. "Makes it easier for you."
Mike carefully dropped the dress onto Donna's belly leaving her legs and hips exposed.
The sensation of cool air against her bare skin was heightened by her fear. Donna stretched her
neck to look down, trying to see more. Mike had a towel which he began to push under her
thighs. Carol worked her fingers from the other side until the terrycloth was between her and the
hard table top. This provided a degree of comfort, further confusing Donna, further raising the
sense of pleasure and of danger.
Donna knew she was going to be raped in some bizarre ritual. She closed her eyes. Her
only hope was that they would not kill her and let her see her children again. As much as she
thought about her son and twin girls, she couldn't help but be entranced by her predicament.
Fighting was useless. Carol was so nice and so soothing. Donna had no choice but to trust her
captors, to turn her body and her life over to them. Just let me live, she thought. Just let me live.
Donna jumped when she felt Mike's hand against her pubis. But she didn't open her eyes.
He would take his pleasure and she would endure.
"I'm not going to hurt your Donna," Mike said.
Donna felt Carol's face close to hers.
"Relax, sweetie," Carol purred. "Mike is going to make you feel good. Donna opened her
eyes to see Carol's kind face. Carol stroked Donna's hair and kissed her forehead. "Just be still
and concentrate on the sensation. You've done this before."
Mikes hand stroked Donna's pubic hair and she felt herself becoming slightly aroused. She
felt a pressure there and heard a strange sound. It started slowly and like a piece of paper being
slowly torn. It ended with a "snip." She realized what it was. Mike was cutting her hair down
there. More pressure. Tearing. Snip. Donna had to admit that the sensation was not at all
unpleasant and contrasted with the tension she felt, positively enjoyable. She listened to the
sounds and imagined the hairs falling away. She could tell when Mike began to focus on
individual hairs.
"That's not so bad, is it?" Carol whispered. Carol brushed her lips against Donna's cheek.
"Is it?"
"No," Donna croaked.
"Mike is very good. Very experienced. Very popular." Carol kissed Donna full on the
mouth, tenderly again. Donna met the contact and Carol responded more deeply. Donna's
confusion melted away as she felt Mike tenderly cut away each small hair.
The next surprise was decidedly enjoyable. Wet warmth enveloped her pussy and she
could hear the distinctive sloshing of a wash cloth. Mike held the cloth there for several moments.
Carol continued to make love with her mouth. Donna cooperated, matching lip for lip, tongue for
tongue. Mike made a clink, clink, clink noise.
Coolness swept across Donna hips as Mike removed the cloth. More warmth again, this
time tickling and it struck Donna. Mike was applying shaving cream, just like the procedure in the
maternity unit, only this was nicer, much nicer.
Donna's wrists and arms began to ache. She mumbled to indicate to Carol that she wanted
to speak. Carol lifted her head.
"My arms," Donna whimpered, "they hurt."
"Nothing to worry about darling. The pain and the pleasure together are going to be
exquisite. You'll see. We're not going to hurt you. You don't have to worry about a thing."
Mike began shaving, but Donna couldn't see the razor. He started at the top, almost to her
navel. He would rub the cream into her whiskers and slowly, sweetly draw the razor across. She
felt his fingers feel for smoothness and he shaved again. Slowly, carefully, Mike worked down
toward the top of her cleft. Donna knew she was positively aroused now, her labia pink and
engorged, exactly like the rooster comb she had heard it compared with. Mike made no sound as
he meticulously worked. Donna squirmed her legs a little in response to the pleasure. Mike forced
her legs apart slightly as he worked down into the creases underneath. Donna knew that the
delicate part was coming up and the anticipation added to her kaleidoscope of feelings. And in the
midst of all this Carol kissed. That woman could kiss Donna thought. No man every kissed her
like that. Bisexuality always fascinated Donna and the past minutes answered her questions. What
ever happened, if she lived, she would like to experience another woman. Other women.
Mike continued his warm, wet, soft, careful journey. She felt him creep in on the lips, pull
at them and shave a little, pull some more, shave some more. Donna truly lost herself in the
experience. Several times, she thought she might climax, but Mike's work was exact and
professional. He was indeed experienced.
Carol began to include Donna's breasts in her attention. Donna felt a shift and realized
that Carol was climbing on the table. Carol laid next to Donna in the few spare inches, forcing
their bodies together. Naturally, Carol knew her way around Donna's body and what she didn't
know, Donna was happy to let her find out. Donna had never experienced anything like this, even
in her most secret fantasies. She found that the complete forfeiture of her body to these two
strangers for their enjoyment to be as intoxicating as the wine that still clouded her mind. The
exotic surroundings, the heavy table, the massive block and tackle and the thick leather straps
stood in sharp contradiction to with her naive softness. No ancient myth of the earthly virgin
kidnaped by the prince of the underworld could begin to compare with this. Donna lost herself
and tumbled into the cacophony of emotions and sensations.
"I think that does it," Mike said, breaking the silence in the cellar.
Donna felt him wipe her with a wonderfully warm cloth and she moved as much as she
could to help him reach the last folds and wrinkles. There followed a new softness as he patted
her dry.
Carol rose from the table and joined Mike, leaving Donna stretched before them. She
twisted her arms which will still pulled over her head.
"Beautiful job," Carol said, "as usual." Carol then lifted her mouth to Mike in one of those
brief, yet sincere kisses of people truly in love. Mike stepped away and Carol stood between
Donna's legs. "Just enjoy," Carol told Donna, "cry out as much as you like."
Donna saw the top of Carol's head between her legs and she felt soft lips meet her freshly
shaved and bathed pussy. That first meeting of tender flesh to tender flesh made Donna gasp and
she had no trouble following her body's response. Carol licked and kissed lightly at first. Soon
Donna couldn't tell the difference between mouth and tongue and fingers. Her arousal built
toward the climax that she knew would come. Donna knew that this orgasm would be far
different than any she had ever experienced, either by herself or with another.
Mike moved to Donna's side and began to caress her breasts through her dress, but very
softly. Donna's husband and her few other partners seemed intent in mashing her breasts in some
male belief that it was pleasurable. Mike knew just what to do though. Donna was grateful that he
didn't try to kiss her. That would have distracted her from Carol's attentions.
Carol brought Donna's clitoris to the brink of climax several times, only to move down to
her vagina. Donna moaned unintelligible syllables. Just as Carol brought Donna to the edge one
more time, Donna felt the tip of a finger delve into her anus. This surprise triggered the climax
and Donna rocked her hips and screamed, the echoes filling the dark chamber. The ability to
vocalize was particularly wonderful since the she was accustomed to biting into a pillow so that
the children or the neighbors upstairs wouldn't hear. The spasms coursed through her body like
great waves at the beach. As the twitching of her vagina and anus slowed, Carol stopped her
licking and just held her mouth and tongue still.
Then Carol lifted her head and placed her hand over Donna's pussy. Carol moved to
Donna's face and kissed her fully on the mouth. Donna tasted her own rich scent, amplified by
Carol's womanly taste. Carol held Donna there as her heart rate and breathing slowly returned to
normal and her body recovered from its release.
Carol seemed to know when the discomfort of the restraints reasserted themselves. While
she undid the strap on her wrists, Mike went freed her ankles. Donna brought her arms down and
the relief added to her post-orgasmic glow. All she could do was lay flat on her back on the table.
Mike respectfully pulled her dress down to cover her. Donna wanted to touch herself, but shyness
prevented that.
"Didn't I tell you that you would enjoy it?" Carol asked.
Donna could only gasp. It was several moments before she tried to sit up.
"Go slow, sweetie," Carol said as she stepped over to her, hand tenderly outstretched.
"We don't want you to faint."
But Donna soon got her balance and she swung her legs over the table, throwing the
towels off onto the floor. Donna reflexively pulled her dress down and Carol handed her her
panties. Donna turned away from the couple as she stepped into them.
"You're probably thirsty," Carol said. She handed Donna a tall glass of clear, cold water.
Donna drank deeply, one more small pleasure. When Donna finished, she sat against the edge of
the table, holding one elbow tightly in a natural posture of defense. Carol touched her slightly.
"Just take a few moments and relax," Carol said. "Would you like a glass of wine?"
"Yes," Donna replied, "I think so."
Mike handed her a glass and Donna saw each of them take one of their own. Carol held
her glass out.
"To Donna," she toasted, "and to new friends." Carol and Mike touched Donna's glass
with theirs and then took sips of the dark red liquid. Donna drank. Mike refilled her glass.
"You have to admit, Donna," Carol said, "you had a good time."
"Well," Donna managed as the wine rolled through her, "yes. But you frightened me."
"That's part of the experience. It wouldn't have been the same if you knew what was
happening, would it?"
"I don't know. I suppose. Yes."
"I want you to know that we don't go around frightening people, but a little fear and a
little pain can be quite enjoyable. As you can see, we know what we're doing.
"I thought you were going to rape me. And kill me."
"Yes, but that didn't happen. At least not in the conventional sense. Do you feel raped?"
"No, not at all."
"Consider it a gift," Carol said, "like the wine. We're sending you home with a case of this
private reserve. To show our gratitude. And our respect."
This was too much for Donna. But she found herself drawn to the couple who, a half hour
before, had her swinging from a gantry. She had read about hostages identifying with their
captors. The Stockholm Syndrome they called it. She never understood it before now. When
someone has total control over you, you naturally take on their character, their point of view.
Their friends become your friends. Their enemies are your enemies.
"You can go if you like, but you're a bit tipsy to drive. Maybe you'd like to lie down up at
the house. Mike and I want some time together and then we have a proposition for you. Perhaps
you'll have dinner with us?"
"Yes," Donna smiled. "I'd like that."
###

[Boofer]

This is a professionally written story with a message in corrollation. There are no gaffs in this piece of work with a lesson about Stockholm Syndrome. The Author is familiar with winery's, winery's exist in the Sanoma Valley or Northern Cal. When I think winery's, I think Hearst Castle, when I think Hearst Castle I think Patty Hearst.

Patty Hearst was kidnapped in the 70's at gunpoint, held captive in a closet and sexually assaulted. She was later caught on cam robbing a bank with the SLA, (Symbianese Liberation Army) which committed numerous crimes in Calif. When captured her defense was Stockholm Syndrome. She had become a member of her captors from abuse as a prisoner.
Coincidence?

Boof

[SamWarrens]

Very interesting story. Too bad it didn't have a continuation.