Best Cettle ever

John sat there nursing his coffee and quietly accepting an early death until the girls started talking over each other in that bright, efficient way that always meant trouble.

Lila set a plate in front of him—eggs, avocado, smoked salmon, a little bowl of mixed nuts and dark chocolate.
“High healthy fats, decent protein, slow carbs. We’re adjusting your meals for the next week. Maximum recovery, maximum… output.”

Maya leaned against the counter, still glowing, and waved her phone.
“I already moved the rest of your calendar into my system. New hires are handling the routine stuff. I’ll take the complex decisions. You’re free from noon onward every day. More time for us.”

Sadie appeared at his side with a bottle of water and a little dish of electrolytes.
“And we’re doing wellness. Warm baths, proper stretches, massage rotations. You got used hard yesterday. We’re not letting you seize up.”
She said it with pure affection, like taking care of his wrecked body was the most natural sisterly duty in the world.

John stared at the three of them.

They weren’t reckless. They weren’t going to break him on day two. Yesterday had been the dam finally collapsing—weeks of tension and teasing and fever and revelation exploding all at once. Today they were already settling into something sustainable. Sharing him without fighting. Feeding him like a prized animal. Clearing his schedule. Planning recovery like professional handlers.

He took a slow bite of the salmon and watched Maya scroll through what used to be his workload with easy confidence. Lila was already discussing massage oil options with Sadie. Every few minutes one of them drifted close—fingers trailing across his shoulders, a soft kiss to his temple, a casual stroke along the waistband of his sweatpants—just enough to keep him warm and aware without demanding anything yet.

The impression settled over him, equal parts alarming and absurdly hot:

He was livestock.

Well-cared-for, carefully optimized, extremely well-fucked livestock, kept by three affectionate succubi who intended to extract every possible drop from him for years to come… and who were smart enough to make sure the livestock stayed healthy enough to keep producing.

John swallowed his food, felt the pleasant ache in his overused cock, and let out a long, resigned breath that turned into a quiet laugh.

“I’m not surviving the year, am I?”

Lila smiled, warm and wicked, and refilled his coffee.

“You’ll survive. We’ll make sure of it.”

She leaned down and kissed him, soft and lingering.

“We need you in peak condition, after all.”

After breakfast and a long, hot shower that loosened some of the worst aches, Sadie took his hand and led him to the massage table they had set up in the spare room. Soft towels, warm oil, low light. She looked almost professional for three full seconds.

“Lie down on your stomach first. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers were small and not particularly strong, but she worked with complete focus—kneading the tight muscles along his shoulders, the knots in his lower back, the burning lines in his thighs. John felt himself sink into the table despite everything. The careful pressure, the quiet concentration on her face, the way she occasionally leaned in to press a soft kiss to a sore spot… it was weirdly relaxing. Almost sweet.

Then the tone shifted.

Sadie climbed onto the table.

She straddled the back of one of his thighs and began sliding the bare, already-dripping folds of her cunt along the length of his leg in long, deliberate strokes—using her own slick as extra oil. Warm, wet heat dragged from the back of his knee all the way up to the curve of his ass, then back down again. She switched legs. Did the same to his arms, rubbing her pussy from wrist to shoulder like it was the most natural massage tool in the world. Every time she shifted, soft little sounds of wet flesh filled the quiet room.

When she had him turn over, the real game became obvious.

She avoided his cock completely.

Instead she straddled his stomach and rolled her hips so her slick cunt painted shiny stripes across his abs. She leaned down and took one of his nipples into her mouth, sucking and teasing with her tongue while her fingers played with the other. She kissed and licked along his collarbones, his neck, the sensitive skin under his jaw. Her hands stroked his sides, his chest, the insides of his arms—every place except the thick, steadily hardening length that lay untouched against his stomach.

John’s breathing grew heavier. His cock twitched and filled without a single direct touch, the neglected ache building sharper with every pass of her wet pussy over his skin and every soft pull of her mouth on his nipples.

Sadie glanced up at him through her lashes, cheeks flushed, eyes knowing. She gave another slow, filthy grind along his thigh and smiled.

She wasn’t just massaging him.

She was edging him on purpose—carefully, patiently, using her whole body to wind him tighter and tighter so the next load he gave them would be that much bigger, that much heavier.

John let his head fall back against the table with a low, helpless groan as the realization settled in.

His little sister was farming him.

And she was very, very good at it.