His come leaking down my thighs

The brine trough was still warm from the afternoon wash when his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers finding my ribs before I could think to step away. The cellar door was bolted behind us, the camera's red light blinking in the corner, and my mother was already miles away at the hospital. "Hold still," Bruno said, his voice low against my neck. "The rind's too stiff tonight." I knew that voice. The same one he used when a wheel wasn't softening right. But his hand was on my bare skin, moving up toward my breasts, and the stone floor felt cold under my bare feet. "Bruno—" "Daddy," he corrected, his thumb circling my n****e through my shirt. "You're my apprentice tonight. My reserve batch." The word hit me between my legs. I felt the heat bloom there, shameful and instant, and I knew he could smell it already. The cellar air was thick with brine and washed-rind ammonia, that sharp yeast smell I'd loved since I was a girl, but now it mixed with something else. My own s*x, wet and desperate. He turned me around to face the trough, his chest pressed against my back. The mushroom brush was still in his hand, dripping with brine. "Lean over," he said. I should have walked out. I should have said no. But my body was already bending, my hands gripping the stone edge of the trough, my shorts pushed to one hip. The cool air hit my bare ass as he pulled them down. "Do you want the full wash?" His voice was calm, professional, like he was asking about humidity levels. "Yes," I whispered. "Please." "Say it properly." "Please, Daddy." The first touch of the brine-soaked cloth against my cunt made me gasp. He moved it in slow circles, the same rhythm he used on the wheels, and I could feel how wet I was getting, how the cloth slid easier with every pass. "Look at that," he murmured. "Soaking through already. You're not a hard rind at all, are you?" "No, Daddy." He spanked me then, light but sharp, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "You're holding yourself too stiff. Relax." His fingers found my c**t through the cloth, pressing in small circles, and my knees buckled. He caught me around the waist, pulling me back against him, and I felt his c**k pressing against my ass through his jeans. "You're going to take me," he said. "And you're going to be quiet about it." The belt unbuckled with a sharp click. I heard the zipper, the rustle of his jeans dropping, and then his c**k was against my cunt, hot and thick, and I was pushing back against him without thinking. "Please," I begged. "Daddy, please don't stop." He entered me in one slow push. The head pressed at my entrance, the ring of muscle stretching around him, and I felt every inch sliding past different folds, the ridge dragging over the rough spot inside me until his hips were flush against my ass. His c**k filled my cunt to the hilt, the blunt heat of him seated against my cervix. "f**k," I breathed. "Quiet." His hand clamped over my mouth. "The camera's sweeping." I looked up. The red light in the corner blinked once, then began to move, the servo clicking as it tracked the room. Bruno held perfectly still inside me, his hand over my mouth, his c**k pulsing gently against my inner walls. I couldn't breathe. The fear made everything sharper—the cold steel camera casing against my hip, the heat of his body behind me, the way my walls clenched around him with every click of the servo. I wanted to clamp my thighs shut, to run, but I couldn't move. The camera swept past us. The red light settled to standby. Bruno pulled his hand away from my mouth and began to move. "Good girl," he growled, his hips slapping against my ass. "You stayed so still for me." His c**k pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in, hitting that deep spot that made my vision blur. I gripped the trough edge, my knuckles white, as he set a rhythm—slow and deep, then faster, the wet sounds of my cunt filling the cellar. "That's it," he said. "Take all of me. You're my good little batch." His fingers found my c**t, rubbing in tight circles while he f****d me, and I felt the heat building in my belly, spreading to my thighs. My inner walls fluttered around him, clenching and releasing, and he groaned—a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest into my back. "I'm going to fill you," he said. "I'm going to come inside this wet cunt and you're going to take every drop." "Yes, Daddy," I sobbed. "Fill me. Please." He drove into me harder, his balls slapping against my c**t, and I felt the orgasm building like a wave. The first contraction started in my walls, a deep clenching that pulled him deeper, and then it spread—heat flooding from my core to my thighs, my toes curling, my back arching. My vision went white for a second, my throat raw as I tried to swallow my scream. He came inside me with a growl, his c**k pulsing, hot come flooding my cunt. I felt the first deep pulse of him filling me, then another, the warmth spreading through me like liquid fire. He pulled out slowly, and I felt his come leaking down my thigh, warm against the cool cellar air. "Round two," he said, lifting me onto the stone shelf. He laid me on my back, my legs over his shoulders, and entered me again. The angle was different—deeper, hitting my cervix with every stroke. His mouth found my neck, hot and demanding, and I could taste the salt on his skin when I licked his shoulder. "Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Soaked and stretched and still begging for more." "Please, Daddy," I whimpered. "Please." He f****d me harder, faster, the stone cold against my bare back while his body burned against mine. I felt my second orgasm building, my inner walls clenching around him, and he groaned. "Come with me," he commanded. "Come on my cock." I came with a sharp cry, my body convulsing, my walls milking him as he drove deep and filled me again. His come was hot inside me, mixing with the first load, leaking down my thighs onto the stone. He pulled out and knelt between my legs. The cheese iron was cold against my skin as he probed my open thighs, the cylindrical blade sliding against my slick cunt. "The core is softening," he said, his voice calm and professional. "Just like I planned." He looked up at the camera, then back at me. "This blind spot," he said. "This is where we do our real work." I felt his come dripping out of me, warm and thick, and I knew nothing would ever be the same.