Private Reserve in the Cellar
I spotted him the moment I walked into the tasting room. Tall, dark hair falling just right over his forehead, crisp white shirt hugging his shoulders. At 27 he still had that eager hunger in his eyes that most of the older sommeliers had lost years ago. I’m 38, own the vineyard that supplied half the bottles here tonight, and I don’t usually chase the staff. But the way he looked at me across the crowd made my thighs tighten.
Our eyes kept meeting while guests swirled and sipped. Finally I cornered him near the cheese table.
“You’re the apprentice who wrote that piece on Tempranillo aging last month, right?” I asked, letting my voice drop low.
He smiled, slow and confident. “Guilty. And you’re Elena Voss. Your ’18 Cabernet is… fucking criminal.”
I laughed softly. “Come with me. I have something better than what they’re serving upstairs.”
I led him down the narrow stone stairs to my private cellar. Candlelight flickered over the oak barrels and dusty bottles. The air smelled of earth, oak, and something warmer—us. I closed the heavy door behind us with a soft click.
“This is my private reserve,” I said, pulling a dusty bottle from a special rack. “Only three people have ever tasted it. You’ll be the fourth.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the tasting room. “I’m honored. But I think you brought me down here for more than wine, Elena.”
I met his gaze, heart hammering. “Smart boy.”
I set the bottle down unopened. My fingers found his tie, loosening it slowly. He didn’t hesitate. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me against him. Our mouths crashed together—hot, urgent, tongues sliding deep. He tasted like the Syrah he’d been sampling upstairs, dark and spicy.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered against my lips, hands already working the zipper at the back of my sleek black dress. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but lace panties and heels.
I unbuttoned his shirt, fingers trembling a little with how badly I wanted him. His chest was smooth and firm. I dragged my nails down it and he groaned.
“Elena… I’ve been staring at you all night. Wondering what you’d sound like when you come.”
“Then stop wondering,” I breathed.
He dropped to his knees right there on the cool stone floor, hooking my panties down my legs. I stepped out of them, spreading my thighs. His mouth found my pussy instantly—hot, wet tongue dragging up my slit, circling my clit with perfect pressure.
“Oh shit… yes,” I moaned, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucked my clit between his lips, two fingers sliding into my soaked cunt, curling just right. The wet sounds of his mouth echoed softly in the cellar. My legs started shaking.
He looked up at me, lips shiny with my juices. “You taste even better than your wine. So fucking sweet.”
I pulled him up, desperate now. “I need your cock. Right now.”
He freed himself quickly. His cock was gorgeous—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. I wrapped my hand around it, stroking once, twice, loving how he hissed through his teeth.
He spun me around, bending me over a low barrel. The wood was smooth and cool against my breasts. I felt the fat head of his cock nudge my pussy lips, then he thrust in hard, burying every inch in one smooth stroke.
“Fuck!” we both said at the same time.
He started moving, deep, powerful strokes that made my toes curl. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the candlelit space. I pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, my pussy clenching around his thick cock.
“Harder,” I gasped. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
“Like this?” He slammed into me, one hand gripping my hip, the other reaching around to rub my swollen clit. The pressure built fast, my breath coming in short, broken moans.
“I’m gonna come… don’t stop… oh god, right there—”
My orgasm hit like a wave. My pussy spasmed hard around him, juices dripping down my thighs. He kept pounding through it, growling low in his throat.
“Shit, Elena… I’m close. Where do you want it?”
“Inside me,” I panted. “Fill my pussy. I want to feel you come.”
Two more brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt. I felt his cock pulse, hot ropes of cum flooding deep inside me. He groaned my name like a prayer, hips jerking with every spurt.
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me. Finally he pulled out slowly, a thick trail of our mixed cum leaking down my leg.
He turned me around, kissing me softer this time, almost reverent.
“Best tasting I’ve ever been to,” he murmured, grinning.
I laughed, still trembling. “The night’s young. We haven’t even opened the bottle yet.”