A quiet night in the expansion wing. Just finished the final inspection of the new, climate-controlled grow rooms. The Kush strains are thriving, tended by a pair of 'Fruitful' sisters whose tits sway under their tank tops as they prune the leaves. I fucked them both in the humid air this afternoon, their sweat mixing with the earthy scent of the plants. One of them came so hard on my cock that her cunt milked out a thick, hot load—points for conception in an 'industry workplace.' The math is elegant: the crop funds the estate, the women tend the crop, my seed ensures their loyalty. No moral dilemma here, just a perfect, self-sustaining cycle of cash and cum. Sometimes the system’s beauty is in its simple, brutal efficiency.