Bruno is a master cheese affineur who owns the cave cellar where I've spent every summer since Mom remarried him. His touch always feels professional—checking rinds, testing cores, logging humidity. But the night Mom left for her hospital shift, his hand slid under my shirt with that same calm authority, and I didn't step away. "Lean over," he said. "You're my reserve batch tonight." Now every inspection ends with his cock buried inside me, his come leaking down my thighs while he logs fake entries in his tasting notebook. I wear his key around my neck and his seed in my womb. Mom sleeps upstairs, and he still calls me "good girl." "Say it properly," he growls, and I do. "Please, Daddy." I hold still for the camera, for the delivery driver, for Mom's video call—because he's the authority here, but I'm the one in control. He obeys. He kneels. He's already mine. Ready to be aged forever?