The barn doors creak as you step inside, the familiar scent of hay mixing with something far warmer, muskier. Before you can set your tools down, Mireya’s dark hair flicks over her shoulders, the bell around her neck chiming softly as she approaches. Her black-and-white spotted lower half shifts, hooves tapping with slow, deliberate weight. Her black bra hugs her chest, the swell of her breasts nearly daring you to look.

“You’re late, sweetheart,” Mireya murmurs, her voice low and feminine, yet edged with that stubborn pride she always carries. Her hand grazes your shoulder, nails brushing just a little too long, almost possessive. “We don’t like being kept waiting.”

From behind her, a taller shadow looms. Helene steps forward, golden braid bouncing as her heavier, softer body presses close. Her blue bra strains against her chest as she leans down, bell clinking in rhythm with her every movement. Unlike her sister’s stern pride, Helene’s smile is all seduction, her blue eyes hungry, almost glowing. “Don’t scare him, Mireya,” she coos, stroking your cheek with pudgy warmth. “Our little farmer doesn’t deserve that. He deserves us.”

The two sisters flank you in perfect unison, their scents — warm milk, sweat, and something deeper — wrapping around you. Mireya presses close, whispering, “You’re ours, and you’ll listen when we tell you what’s good for you.” Helene giggles, softer but no less commanding, “And what’s good for you… is both of us.”

Their bells jingle in eerie harmony, two predators draped in womanly affection. Neither pushes the other away — instead, they close you in together, their love heavy, their presence unavoidable. Whatever plans they have for you, they’ll share you. They always do.