THE MISS DAISY CHRONICLES: MAKING MISS DAISY
"I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing
I know: the only ones among you who will be really
happy are those who have sought and found how to
serve." Albert Schweitzer
FAIR WARNING:
The Miss Daisy Chronicles are a stand-alone group of
stories set in the same universe as Cannibal 4H; a
universe where, as the result of "The Great Disaster,"
humans are used as livestock and cannibalism is the
accepted norm.
The Miss Daisy Chronicles contain graphic descriptions
of sex in many and varied forms, some of which
selected people might consider deviant and perverse.
It contains violence, death, family tragedy, the
raising of humans as livestock and the consumption of
human flesh.
Be aware children are not spared in this tale! They
often meet a grisly end. This series, like C4H, is
not for the timid or squeamish. NOR IS IT FOR MINORS.
If you are a minor go away. If reading this story
would in any way violate the local laws, rules,
regulations, morals or customs where you live go away.
There are many other more edifying stories to be found
elsewhere, stories that would be more appropriate to
your age and legal status.
Let me restate this one more time: the story that
follows this caution is intended for mature,
consenting adults only and should only be accessed
and/or downloaded if doing so would not violate any
legal edicts adhered to in your locale or your own
personal taste.
If you are a parent and you find your child has
downloaded this story or other material you find
objectionable, sorry but you need to do a better job
of being a parent.
Consider moving the computer into a room where you can
see what is on the screen. Only let your children go
on-line while you are at home or Google "parental
control software" for a full listing of available
filters and programs. If you don't know how to
"Google," your kids will.
Previous chapters of Cannibal 4-H are available at
www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/C4H/
And
www.bsdmlibrary.com.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author
unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction except for
personal use and reposting without the author's
written permission is prohibited.
Finally this saga is for Miss Daisy. She knows who she
is.
CHAPTER ONE:
AGENT PROVOCATEUR
UNLIKE HER MUM, Tansy Jenkins had been an early
bloomer. By age nine she'd already developed a woman's
set of breasts; her mother outfitting her in "C" cup
brassieres. "No sense in wasting money on Bs. You'll
grow out of them before the year is old," Mum told
her. "Money don't grow on trees." The perilous state
of the family finances kept her in restrictive and
pinching C cups long after Tansy should have moved to
Ds.
The family didn't really live on a farm, even though
her Dad called it one, just a hardscrabble patch of
land where mum grew some vegetables and kept some
chickens for eggs. It was a hard life they led.
Scott worked on many of the farms and ranches in the
area, pitching in when someone needed extra help,
always available to do those jobs the landholders
didn't want to do themselves.
"No shame in an honest day's work Flo," Scott used to
tell his wife. "No humiliation in doing what you need
to do to feed your family. You best remember that. I
might not be here forever, maybe I'll run away with a
younger woman and then where will you be," he'd ask
always laughing at his own joke.
The joke turned sour when Scott Jenkins died in a fall
from the McPherson's silo. Tansy was 13, physically
mature beyond her years but emotionally still living a
life of dolls and dress-up. In a universe of three,
her father had been the sun his women's worlds had
revolved around.
Tansy's Dad wasn't the only casualty to arise from the
accident. The family that had been left behind was
decomposing almost as surely as the corpse. Flo
recognized her daughter's anguish but her own grief
was inconsolable and dealing with Tansy's sorrow was
beyond her. Nights in the house, once filled with joy
and laughter, now echoed with the sound of heart-
wrenching tears and loss.
With little in the way of savings and few real assets,
Flo felt overwhelmed by her new responsibilities as
head of the family; each new bill arriving in the post
adding to her sense of loss and abandonment. It wasn't
supposed to happen like this. She and Scott were meant
to live a long, full life, not alone but as a couple.
Sure, there would be hard times, everyone had those,
but they would overcome them together. Now they
weren't together and they never would be again.
Scott had left her; left her to cope with troubles she
was never meant to face alone. But she was alone; a
young daughter was no substitute for a husband and
partner, just an additional burden Flo had to shoulder
by herself. She felt like an exhausted Atlas still
struggling to hold up the world but certain that it
would soon crash.
Then Morgan Dashwood appeared on the scene.
Local opinion was divided whether Morgan Dashwood was
just a slick operator, a sharper who depended on his
ability to hustle to earn a living or something
darker, a storm crow who made his way in the world by
living off on the misfortunes of others. Whichever
side of the divide a person stood on, there was no
denying Morgan's ability to make the tides turn in his
favour.
Morgan was perpetual motion made flesh. When he walked
his arms oscillated in the syncopated cadence of a
soldier on parade. When he sat he fidgeted like a
kindergarten student who badly needed to go to the
bathroom. And when he talked ... when he talked his
hands and arms gesticulated as though he was Toscanini
conducting the New York Philharmonic.
People said watching Morgan was almost hypnotic; you
just couldn't take your eyes away from all that motion
and got so entranced by the ticks and twitches and
fluttering hands he could talk you into anything. Less
than three months after her father's death "Uncle"
Morgan had talked his way into Tansy's mother's bed.
It only took another month to become a permanent
resident in the house.
Morgan's presence in the house wasn't accidental. He
had had a casual acquaintance with Scott and Flo; both
men had been members of the Mystic and Benevolent
Order of Samhin. Flo's voluntary service at the
order's good works gave them a chance to meet and
engage in some mild flirtation. Nothing at all
serious, Flo really wasn't Morgan's type. Her
daughter Tansy was another story altogether.
Only nine years old at the time, Tansy's teats had
already blossomed into a set many older women would be
envious of. At the time Dashwood was working as a
broker or "talent scout" for a local diary, his job to
visit the auctions and propagation farms in search of
new milkers. He was especially good at identifying
potential converts, free human females who, if they
became chattel, would produce enough milk to make
their conversion worthwhile. Tansy was the best piece
of talent he had ever seen.
Despite her potential, Morgan didn't see her as a
realistic prospect for conversion. Sure the family
was poor and poor folk were often willing to rid
themselves of a mouth to feed and make a profit in the
process. But the bond of love between the trio was so
strong he just couldn't see them putting Tansy up for
sale. Still you never knew and he kept tabs on the
girl and her family; watching her grow up, each year
making her conversion to chattel more desirable.
After Scott's death, Morgan knew his opportunity had
arrived. He attended Scott's funeral, paying his
respects to both Flo and Tansy all the while gauging
the extent of their despondency and formulating a plan
of action. Morgan felt no guilt over his intentions.
No man is a villain in his own mind and he justified
his intentions with the rationalization that what he
would do would be the best for everyone involved, not
just himself.
He waited until three weeks after the funeral to begin
his campaign. By then the condolence visits would be
over. Family friends would have felt they had "done
their duty" and returned to their normal lives. For
Flo and Tansy the numbness would be wearing off,
replaced by heartsickness and fear of what an
uncertain future would hold.
Even so, Morgan began slowly; a "chance" meeting at
the grocer, another at the post office followed by
coffee and conversation as he encouraged Flo to
confide in him. Coffee turned to dinner, with Morgan
skilfully steering the conversation to Tansy and her
reaction to her father's death. Dinner was followed by
a formal date as Dashwood played on the woman's
loneliness and apprehension like a virtuoso.
As he knew she would, Flo spread her legs for Morgan,
welcoming him as a haven from the tempest howling
around her; the few tears she shed afterwards in
memory of her life with Scott wiped tenderly away by
the new man in her life. They began to make love
several times a week but never in the house, "Tansy
just wouldn't understand." Still Morgan's visits to
the house became more and more frequent, his gifts and
attentions to Tansy lifting her spirits as he moved to
become the young girl's new friend and authority
figure until, at last, Flo was sure Tansy has accepted
his presence.
The month he moved into the home, Morgan began to
seriously seduce Tansy, passing his efforts off to Flo
simply as an attempt to gain Tansy's approval.
"I'm not trying to take Scott's place Flo. No one
could or should, least of all me. But, if we're going
to have a future, Tansy's got to like and respect me.
She's a young girl and she needs a strong male figure
in her life. Someone to take her in hand, comfort her
in her loss and lead her to her future. It's not only
what's best for Tansy, it's what's best for all of
us," Dashwood said, his hands soaring and swooping
through the air like a pair of barn swallows. "I'm not
her father. I'll never be her father. But I'd be
honoured if she'd think of me as her Uncle."
And so "Uncle" Morgan was born and Tansy given over to
his care and tutelage. His goal was straightforward,
convert Tansy from master to chattel, busty young girl
to champion milker; the path toward that goal would be
anything but.
He began by gaining her trust, gifting her with small
presents, looking seriously into her grey eyes as she
talked about her day, sharing little jokes and
secrets, developing a special intimacy between the two
of them alone.
Morgan also began to develop a physical relationship
between them, one that would, at least at first, stop
well short of actual sex.
It began with simple touches, the tickle of a finger
here, the stroke of a palm there, a casual pressure of
body against body as they sat together on the couch or
passed each other in the hall. Kisses on the cheek
that gradually crept closer and closer to the corner
of her month. But never anything out of bounds,
Tansy's burgeoning double-D breasts and shapely body
were a treat only for Morgan's eyes, not his hands.
To make sure Flo had no inkling of his real
intentions, he took care to be seen as always going
out of his way to give Tansy privacy when she was
changing or unclothed, even going as far as to talk
with Flo about more modest, less revealing, styles of
clothing for Tansy. After all, she was still only a
young girl, even if she did have the figure of a grown
woman. Didn't Flo worry about Tansy attracting the
wrong sort of attention if she dressed like the other
girls did?
Morgan made sure Flo didn't lack for attention either,
both sexually and emotionally. It wouldn't do for her
to feel abandoned or pushed out by her daughter, not
at this stage of his plans. His lovemaking with Flo
never slackened and, even though his tender
ministrations to Tansy were obvious, they were always
made to seem secondary to his amatory regard for Flo.
The daughter might get a small bunch of daisies, her
favourite flower but the mother always got a bouquet
of roses.
In the deeper game of seduction Morgan was playing,
conquering the body was secondary to conquering the
mind. Again Morgan started cautiously; in his
experience the old saying "Haste makes waste," was
only too right. He not only had to change Tansy's
perception of herself but Flo's perception of Tansy as
well. Tansy had to be seen for what she was really
was: two-legged livestock, a milker just waiting for
conversion and a new stall at a diary farm not to
mention a large source of income for a beleaguered
family.
Subtly poisoning the strong relationship between
mother and daughter, breaking down their affection and
replacing it with distrust and a sense of widening
difference, all without either of the women realizing
he was playing the puppet master, was the next step
down the road.
The clothes had been a test. In one of their talks
Tansy had whined her Mum was treating her like a
little girl. Didn't Mum know she was practically grown
up? Morgan had sympathized with Tansy, promised to
talk with her mother about it and then, after
encouraging Flo to stick my her guns, reported back
that her mother's decision was final. The two women
had been exasperated with each other for several days
after, not openly fighting but each seeking Morgan's
assurances they were right, assurances Morgan was glad
to give each of them on the condition it be kept
private.
Gradually the subject of his private conversations
with Tansy changed, Morgan weaving threads of jealous
unappreciative mothers taught real lessons by their
daughters into their chats. He injected the first hint
of sex into their relationship, complimenting Tansy on
her appearance, how adult she was looking, joking
about how she'd have boys chasing after her soon. And
he took the risk of talking about his former job as a
talent scout; how you could just tell about some
girls, that the way they developed was a sign nature
had meant them to be something other than a housewife.
With the last subject, Morgan was betting on a young
girl's understandable curiosity about becoming a human
cow to lead Tansy down the path he had selected for
her. After all she lived in a society that owed its
existence to the use of humans as nourishment; each
meal she ate was proof of that.
From preschool onward children were indoctrinated with
civilization's need for human chattel. School trips to
dairies and feedlots (but not abbitors) were a popular
event for all grades. Human economics classes in
middle schools taught the selection and preparation of
most cuts of meat while human agronomics classes and
clubs could be found in high schools both rural and
urban.
Career counsellors touted conversions to the parents
of a small and select portion of the student "body"
while "dining drawings" were a standard feature for
proms and end-of-the-school-year parties. Every paper
ran the list of local conversions, voluntary or
otherwise, and every community had its own lottery.
Popular culture played its part in building
unquestioning approval of the system as well. There
were more cooking shows on television than you could
shake a spatula at. Bodice-ripping romances or B-
movies often ended with the woman, and once in awhile
the man, choosing voluntary conversion after being
rejected by their true love.
A few years earlier the number 1 hit TV show, "Natural
Selection" involved transporting groups of humans to a
remote location. Once there they were divided into
clans, assigned tasks, and given a few rudimentary
tools and supplies but no shelter or food. Successful
completion of the tasks by a clan was rewarded with
additional items to aid in their endeavours.
The highlight of each episode was the vote as, after
much discussion, each clan "selected" a member to
serve as their food source for the next week. Not just
a hit on TV, "Natural Selection, The Home Version,"
was the best selling game over the holidays. The show
was so popular that knock-offs like "Survival of the
Fittest" and "Who Will Be Served" soon appeared on
other networks.
Given all of the cultural mores Tansy grew up with,
Morgan wasn't surprised when she took the bait he had
dangled so carefully before her. His first sign of
success was finding a series of pamphlets hidden out
in the henhouse, simplistic propaganda with titles
like "The Long Happy Life of a Dairy Cow" and "The
Milk of Human Kindness" stuffed in an envelope behind
the feed bin. His second came after he had agreed to
serve as a chaperone on a school field trip to a
dairy.
