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
heartwrenching 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 Bmovies 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.


   
