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 The Miss Daisy Chronicles: Making 
Miss Daisy are available at

http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/THE MISS 
DAISY CHRONICLES/MAKING MISS DAISY/

and www.bdsmlibrary.com
 

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.

Eurytion@yahoo.com

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    


CHAPTER TWO: 
BEDROOM EYES


IT WAS A DAMP, CHILLY DAY as the bus pulled into the 
dairy yard, its tired wipers smearing the falling 
light mist into sepia lines on the windscreen. Dressed 
in slickers or holding umbrellas, the class slowly 
descended from the bus their excitement and 
nervousness obvious as they formed two lines, boys in 
one, girls in the other.  Their tours would be 
separate but equal. 

Experience had shown that better order was kept that 
way. Less sexual sniggering meant more open 
questioning during the tour.  Even with the boys in 
the back of the bus and the girls up front, divided by 
a row of chaperones, there'd be enough lewd talk and 
jokes on the bus ride home. No reason to encourage it 
during the class.

Greeting the visitors was Previn Shaw, manager of The 
Paladin Dairy, whose job included personally 
conducting all tours of the facility. With Shaw was 
Doc Anthony, one of the regular farmhands. While Shaw 
handled the girls' tour, the farmhand would shepherd 
the boys about. His earthy descriptions of the milking 
and the cows were more suited to the boys' ears and 
besides, he'd let each of the boys get a "forbidden" 
feel of a tit before the cows were hooked to the 
machine. He'd been young once too even if no sign of 
that youth remained in his craggy face.
 
There were more to these walkabouts than the obvious 
public relations benefits.  Each visit helped to 
identify and track potential human cattle, one reason 
why Shaw wasn't surprised to see Mrs. Patel the school 
counsellor in the group. After the tour was over 
they'd get together and compare notes on which of the 
female students showed the most promise for a 
different way of life. 

Shaw was surprised though to see Morgan Dashwood 
standing next to one of the students, a young female 
endowed far beyond her years.  A wry smile playing 
across his face, he reflected that Morgan hadn't lost 
his knack for picking them. If Morgan had an interest 
in this girl, Shaw would keep a close tabs on her. No 
one was better at nosing out prime stock than "Shaky" 
Dashwood.

Returning his attention to the class, the manger went 
into his well-practised spiel about the history of the 
dairy, one of the oldest, largest and most modern in 
the area with over 200 cows on milking status at any 
one time although only about 60 would be milked during 
the time the students were there.

On these tours, Shaw made it a point to answer every 
question he was asked, sometimes providing a response 
the more repetitious inquiries before they could be 
asked.  "Sorry to tell you this but while our herd is 
naked you won't see any cows being bred here." Audible 
moans of disappointment from both sexes were heard 
after this announcement. 

"Paladin is strictly a milking dairy, not a breeding 
farm.  While human cattle did need to be pregnant to 
lactate or give milk, it's easier for us to use 
regular injections of hormones to mimic pregnancy, 
rather than have a herd of swelled heifers milling 
about." 

Yes, the cows' teats were very large. Size, he 
explained, although not the only criteria, was very 
important to the quantity of milk a cow produced. No, 
the cows couldn't talk. These weren't humans, as they 
would see; just dumb farm animals.  Yes, some of the 
cows were converts of formerly free humans and no, you 
couldn't tell the difference and no, he wouldn't tell 
which was which, but don't worry about seeing someone 
you used to know. Right now, all our cows are from 
outside the area. 

That's right, the cows did get physical pleasure out 
of the act of being milked, which would be obvious 
when they saw the milking take place. If they weren't 
milked on a regular schedule, their udders would swell 
to the point they became very painful for the animal. 
That didn't happen at this dairy. Here all stock was 
treated humanely.

Sorry, the diary did very little hand milking, and 
none by volunteers. With the large number of cows they 
milked, mechanical milking was more effective. Yes, 
they would get a cup of fresh milk at the end of the 
tour and no they couldn't have it directly from the 
teat. 

"Did your mother wean you too soon son," Shaw 
responded to the laughter of the group.

Generally the average age of the cows at Paladin was 
from 16 to 28, although they'd had cows as young as 15 
and as old as 32. It really depending on how good a 
producer they were. But seven to ten years was the 
normal expectancy for a milker.

What happened to the cows after they were no longer 
producing milk?  Well, if they had dried up entirely 
they were usually slaughtered for food. If the 
production had just dropped off to the point it cost 
more to feed them than they brought back in milk 
money, and if they were good producers to begin with, 
they'd be sent to a breeding farm to produce the next 
generation of propagated cattle. 

Now, if there were no more questions it was time to 
start the tour. The boys would begin in the milking 
parlour, while the girls would go to the tank rooms.

As he began the tour, Shaw noticed that both Shaky and 
the counsellor were staying close to the kid with the 
big tits, not near enough that she would think they 
were hovering over her but close enough to gauge her 
reactions to what she was seeing and hearing. 

Shaw explained the workings of the tank room to the 
girls. All pipes and tanks were stainless steel as 
were the pipes in the parlour. Before and after each 
milking the pipes and tanks were disinfected by 
running water-diluted bleach through them, followed by 
a flush of fresh water to remove any traces of the 
bleach. Health inspectors made weekly inspections of 
the dairy for cleanliness, which meant that everything 
that touched milk was thoroughly sanitized on regular 
basis.

A pipe, running on the right side of a large glass 
window, came from the parlour into the tank room. The 
window, with an intercom box on its left side, allowed 
the tank room operator to observe the farmhands doing 
the milking and give instructions if necessary.  The 
pipe was movable. Depending on which way it was swung 
the pipe would attach to one of five tanks.

Each of the tanks was double-jacketed, a pump on the 
top of the tank circulating cold water between the 
skins to keep the milk cool. A motor on the top of the 
tank operated a paddle stirrer inside the tank, its 
purpose to keep the milk gently agitated to prevent 
the cream from separating from the rest of the milk.

Every other day the tanker truck came from the co-op 
to haul the milk to the processing plant.

As usual, most of the girls had a hard time listening 
to his lecture, their eyes drawn to the door into the 
milking parlour.  Several even bounced up and down on 
tiptoe to try and see through the window. Morgan's 
girl, for that was how Shaw had pegged her, wasn't one 
of them. Instead she had paid careful attention to his 
every word, even placing her cheek against the outer 
jacket of one of the tanks when Shaw invited them to 
see how cool they were.

The intercom buzzed twice, the signal that the boys 
had left the milking parlour and were helping to walk 
the herd back into their stalls.  As Shaw opened the 
door into the milking parlour, the next thirty cows 
were just being brought in for their turn on the 
machine.

The parlour was divided into fifteen milking stations 
on each side. A one and a half-inch pipe ran above the 
stations merging into the single three-inch pipe that 
went into the tank room. At each station a half-inch 
flexible transparent tube ran down from the larger 
pipe connecting with the stainless steel milking 
machine that sat on the floor of the station. 

As the girls watched the farmhands cleaned each cow's 
breasts with a washcloth soaked in light soap and a 
gentle antiseptic, the cows shivering at the rough 
touch of the fabric. This was the chore Charlie let 
the boys perform, under his close supervision of 
course so no real liberties could be taken. The 
washing was followed by a rinse of clean water. There 
would be no contamination of the milk at Paladin 
Dairy.

Milking vests were attached to the cows. Custom-fitted 
for each milker, the vests were made of a soft but 
strong white plastic with lined cut-outs in the front 
for the pendulous udders to hang through. Each vest 
had a series of three rounded ledges under each cutout 
to help separate the teats from the rest of the 
heifer's upper torso. The vests ended just below each 
milker's navel.

A single strap at the bottom of the vest and two more 
crossing shoulder straps secured with Velcro in the 
middle of the animal's back. D-rings attached to the 
top and bottom of each side of the vest allowed for 
the cow to be hooked to short chains that would hold 
her in place during the milking.

Guided by the farmhands, each cow made its way up a 
short ramp leading to the milking platform. Without 
hesitation, each cow took her position on the 
platform, bending over to place its palms flat in 
indentations on the front of the platform, knees on 
the back portion, spread wide apart to expose the 
pouch of its her hairless vagina. The platform itself 
was padded in several inches of high-density foam 
covered the same plastic as the vests.

As the cows were being positioned for their milking, 
Morgan observed Tansy as an anthropologist would a 
member of a newly discovered tribe. Ever since she had 
gotten her first good glimpse of the cows, Tansy's 
eyes had looked like those of a sheep gazing on a 
verdant meadow, waiting for the shepherd to lead her 
forward into the promised land.

The breasts of all of the cows hung low towards the 
platforms, most of them descending almost half-way 
below their elbows, engorged nipples distended ever 
further downward.  After carefully squeezing each 
nipple until the milk began to flow, the milking cups 
were attached, one on each breast.

The cups were of a standard design, although 
manufactured in a variety of sizes. A circular tube of 
flexible polymer centred in the cup surrounded the 
nipple while the remainder of the cup covered the 
lower fourth of the udder. The cups were held in place 
by denture adhesive, low-cost, effective, non-
irritating and easily cleaned. As the milking cups 
were stuck in place, the open nether regions of the 
female cattle began to soften with moisture, as were 
the pussies of several of the schoolgirls. 

After making sure the milking cups were securely in 
place, the pumps of the milking machines were powered 
up; each pump making a rhythmic pulsing noise, "shoop, 
shoop, shoop, shoop," as they began to suck the milk 
out of the grateful cows, the transparent tubing 
filling with white foamy fluid, breast collapsing and 
expanding in time with the pumps. While all of the 
women in the room, young and old alike, were in 
various stages of arousal, Morgan noticed that Tansy 
was the most affected of all of them.

Despite the warm temperature of the barn, kept in the 
high 70s for the comfort of the animals, Tansy's 
nipples were as engorged as if she was riding a 
snowmobile in a silk nightdress. Mouth gaping open, 
the child was rubbing her thighs together in time to 
the beat of the pumps. Her neck and face were suffused 
with a bright carmine flush of blood; her breath 
expelled from her body in a series of short bursts.

Leaning forward as though she intended to offer to 
take the cow's place on the platform, Tansy's body 
began to quake with involuntary tremors. Chest 
heaving, with a loud gasp she stumbled back, to lean 
shakily against an equipment locker while she tried to 
regain her composure. 

Morgan looked up from his observation of his niece to 
see Shaw smiling at him. With a nod of his head he 
returned the gesture. Looks like age hadn't dimmed 
Vin's eagle eye, the manager had clearly marked Tansy 
for special attention. 

The other girls had been too busy with their own 
stimulation to pay any attention to Tansy. Not so Mrs. 
Patel who had been scanning the sexual excitement of 
all the girls. Tansy was the only one to reach orgasm. 
She was also watching the interaction between the two 
men. Clearly Tansy's "uncle" had more than a passing 
interest in his "niece," one that the dairy manager 
seemed to be sharing.  Well, they'd all have a little 
chat before the bus left.

After the milking was done and the cups removed, Shaw 
continued with his exposition of dairy farming. 
Explaining any "dizziness" they might have felt was a 
perfectly normal reaction in healthy girls to watching 
a milking take place, Shaw explained the reddish-brown 
liquid each breast was being covered with was an 
iodine solution which would kill any germs and prevent 
the breast from becoming infected and took a few more 
minutes to talk about the need for hygiene at the 
farm. 

More time than the topic deserved but he wanted to 
give the girls a brief time to settle down before 
showing them the final step of the milking process.

It's not enough for the cows to have their breasts 
emptied of milk, as nice as that felt to them. Dairy 
cows at Paladin also got to enjoy the simplicity of 
physical pleasure, something that not only gentled 
them down but also helped to increase milk production. 

Now, Shaw went on, this was something the boys didn't 
get to see on their tour. At their age they had enough 
ideas already without stimulating them to think up a 
few more. If any of the girls felt they didn't want to 
watch they could leave now and go over to the diary 
bar for some milk and ice cream. No one moved.

Shaw cautioned the girls if they did stay they had to 
remember that these cows were stock, not humans.  
Sure, except for the size of their udders they looked 
human but looks can be deceiving. These were farm 
animals with no sense of higher purpose than to be 
fed, washed, milked and pleasured afterwards. 

As the last of the farmhands left the parlour, the 
manager himself began the demonstration.  Normally, 
the hired help did this task and, if the girls had 
been older 17 or 18, the hands would have continued 
with a "special" break afterwards for the girls who 
desired more "personal" demonstrations. But 13 and 14 
year olds were, at least in this setting, off-limits.

On his walk over to Margo's milking station, Shaw 
opened a cabinet, removing three items, a jar of 
yellowish ointment, what looked like rounded blue 
flexible popsicle about 5 inches long attached to a 
wide base and, the strangest item of all, a purple j-
shaped device about 8 inches long with a square black 
box on one end. 

The main stem of the device had a dark purple egg-
shaped knob on the end, with a series of large ridges 
like an accordion underneath.  The protuberance at the 
base of the j looked like nothing more than a fat, odd 
hand and wrist with the thumb pointing perpendicular 
to the other four fingers. The box itself had two 
buttons, one with a triangle point forward and one 
with a triangle pointing back. Beneath each button was 
a rocker switch marked with a plus sign on one end and 
a minus sign on the other.

The girls giggled uneasily as Shaw placed the items on 
a bench next to Margo; one saying "I know what that 
is," as she pointed to the purple device. "My mom's 
got one of those hidden in her closet."  

The air of the milking parlour was fragrant with the 
scent of female secretions and not just from the cows. 
Many of the students were being to display the same 
signs Tansy did earlier, nipples making little, and in 
some cases not so little, tepees in their blouses, 
faces turning the carnation pink of a ten-year old's 
vagina, breath as shallow as an asthma victim. Shaw 
took a moment to single out Tansy, whose shining eyes 
were focused, not on the instruments, but on Margo.

Starting with the purple implement, Shaw described the 
devices to the fascinated girls. The purple monster 
was a stimulator, the strange mini-hand vibrated to 
provide direct stimulation to the clitoris while the 
main shaft not only vibrated within the cow's vagina, 
it also contained a motor to thrust in and out in 
imitation of a bull's penis. The buttons and rocker 
switches controlled the speed and intensity of the 
machine's actions.

The ointment was a mildly antiseptic lubricant.  While 
the cows' vaginas always got very moist during 
milking, a sign of the pleasure they received from the 
process; a little extra slipperiness never hurt and 
would make sure the movements of the stimulator 
injured no delicate tissues, which could be quite 
aggressive under high power.

The blue popsicle was an anal plug, designed not so 
much to give the cows sexual gratification, even 
though some seemed to enjoy it, as to keep them from 
having a bowel movement during their orgasms. As 
animals, they didn't have the same degree of control 
over their bodily functions as humans did. "We use 
these because I don't think any of you would enjoy 
being sprayed with cow manure and I know I don't."

Approaching Margo, Shaw spread the cow's legs even 
further apart; an action that raised its butt higher 
into the air and slightly separated the lips of the 
cow's vagina.  More than one of the schoolgirls 
discovered a new fantasy as his strong fingers gently 
applied the lubricant to Margo's rectum and birth 
canal.

Then came the butt plug. Margo shied away until her 
anal muscles stretched enough to accept the thick 
intruder as it slid its way into the puckered rosette 
between her ample ass cheeks.

Satisfied the seating of the butt plug would prevent 
any leakage, Shaw reached for the stimulator, slowly 
penetrating the cow with its length. A press of a 
button and the invader moved in and out with slow 
rhythmic strokes. Margo responded to the delicious 
sensation with shudders and a low moan, actions 
mirrored by some of the nymphets in the crowd.

A click of a rocker switch and vibrations joined the 
thrusting action of the machine, its hum growing 
louder, but not quite loud enough to block out the 
sound of excited women panting at the show. Shaw 
adjusted the machine to its maximum setting, causing 
Margo to twitch as though she was shaking off a swarm 
of flies.

Suddenly the cow tensed, its vaginal muscles 
swallowing the stimulator further into the recesses of 
its cunt.  Arching her back like a cat, the animal 
gave out an inarticulate bellow then sagged down as 
though bovine muscles had turned to gelatine, its 
wilting mimicked by some of the randier schoolgirls.

As the class toddled off, some quite unsteadily, to 
the ice cream parlour to restore their equilibrium, 
Shaw indicated to Shaky to stay behind.  The school 
counsellor also invited herself to the confab.

Caught out and believing Mrs. Patel at least could be 
a valuable ally in successfully completing his plan, 
Morgan came clean.  Within the year he intended to see 
Tansy standing on the auction block, fulfilling her 
destiny of becoming a champion milker. Patel nodded 
her agreement; after all she had had Tansy under 
observation for a number of years. Lord knows her 
grades were only average and while the world didn't 
need another slothful shop girl, premier diary cows 
were always in demand.

For his part, Shaw settled on being given first notice 
of when Tansy would be placed for sale Morgan refusing 
to give him exclusive purchasing rights. Still, if 
Shaky's instincts were as on target as before, this 
girl would be something special.

That night Morgan awoke with a badly distended 
bladder, the red digits of the bedside clock flashing 
1:20 am, mocking his efforts at getting a full night's 
sleep.  Careful not to waken Flo, he put on his night 
robe and quietly moved down the hall to the bathroom 
only to be stopped by a pale swatch of light coming 
from Tansy's bedroom.

The door to his niece's room was usually closed tight 
not only to provide the young girl with privacy but 
also to help muffle the noises broadcasting from Flo's 
room when they fucked. The woman might act at times 
like a timid little mouse, but she was as vocal as 
they came. Earlier tonight, as Morgan used her body to 
satiate the lust his trip to the dairy had aroused, 
he'd actually had to put a pillow over her mouth to 
silence her yelps. Putting his hand over her mouth to 
quiet her only got him a set of teeth marks on his 
palm, still throbbing from Flo's bite.

Cautiously he approached Tansy's bedroom as guttural 
murmurings reaching his ear; clearly they were words 
but words too muted to discern. The door to the girl's 
room was slightly ajar, a three inch gap between the 
panel and the jamb accounting for the faint 
illumination spilling into the hallway. Taking care 
not to be discovered, Morgan edged his way along the 
wall until he could peek into the room.

There, bathed in the cool celadon green lambency of 
her nightlight, Tansy was flat on her back, eyes 
closed despite being awake.  The daisy blanket and 
sheets covering her bed had been pushed down to just 
below her navel, revealing her nude upper torso to 
Morgan's carnal gaze. 

No longer restrained by a bra or concealed by layers 
of clothing, Tansy's mammaries were all that Morgan 
had envisioned. Full and heavy with areolas at least 
three inches across, the bulk of their still firm 
flesh overhanging the girl's ribcage without sagging. 
These were already the ripe tits of a prime milker, 
lacking only the hormones necessary to begin 
lactation, tits that would only become larger and more 
productive as the 13-year old child further matured 
into a proper piece of chattel.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Morgan was 
pleased to see that the visit to the dairy had 
affected Tansy as well. Her left hand was caressing 
her left breast, squeezing and moulding it in 
imitation of a cow being milked, thumb and forefinger 
pinching and pulling on the nipple while, under the 
bedding, the girl's right hand was vigorously moving 
between her thighs. 

Emboldened by the sight before him, Morgan crept 
closer until he was just inches away from the gap.  
Now the mumbled words became clear: "Give me your milk 
now, that's a good cow. Come on sweetheart, make sweet 
milk for me. That's the way. Empty those aching 
breasts and fill that bucket up to the top like a good 
cow should."

As her hands worked her body and her thoughts worked 
her mind, Tansy could feel the hot vibrations in her 
cunt, tart liquid fire coating her palm, spilling down 
her thighs, creating an ever widening puddle beneath 
her writhing ass.

The youngster now was certain she wanted to be a cow. 
Not a meat cow or a breeding cow, but a dairy cow, 
whose gift to the world would be giving sweet milk to 
the people of the town. She'd toyed with the idea 
before but seeing all those milkers at Paladin's had 
made her mind up for her. She longed for the suction 
of a milking machine as a fire craves oxygen. She knew 
he time had come to exchange her bedroom for a stall. 

Her pussy opening and closing around her thrusting 
fingers, Tansy shuddered violently as she came, her 
legs shaking as she pushed upwards against her hand, 
the sharp smell of her juices thick in her nose. Still 
she wasn't satisfied, visions of being on her hands 
and knees, foamy white fluid dripping from her hanging 
teats to splash with a metallic plink on the bottom of 
the bucket below her still excited her, spurring her 
on.

She recaptured a nipple with her fingers, nails 
pinching into its flesh, hardening it, making it swell 
even more and then flicked it with a fingertip, the 
short sharp pain making her gasp even as she tried to 
draw milk from a dry tit.

Her crotch had become a steamy swamp, damp mossy hair 
fringing the entrance to her gaping cunt. Lifting her 
ass up of the bed, Tansy slid her little finger into 
her anus, the middle three fingers working her vagina, 
the outer lips thick, the inner lips wide open while 
her thumb buzzed the engorged nub of her clit.  

Thinking of dairies and farmhands and milking and the 
purple machine used on Margo, she bit her lip to keep 
from screaming. Intense pleasure again flooded her 
body with spasms. Legs kicking, arms waving she rocked 
from side to side, the bedding toppling to the floor 
as she reached the peak of her orgasm, jerking upright 
as her flesh turned to electricity. With a long 
exhalation of breath Tansy slumped weakly back down to 
the mattress, for the time being her passion quenched.

In the hall, Morgan too was shuddering but his tremors 
came from the effort needed to stop from rushing into 
the room. Quickly backing away from Tansy's door, he 
walked stiffly down the hall to the bathroom, an iron 
rod protruding from the junction of his thighs.

Untying the knot holding his robe together, Morgan's 
hand flies to his throbbing penis. Unsure of which 
excited him more, the sight of his niece in the nude 
masturbating or the knowledge his plan was working to 
perfection, he is sure he can't go back to bed with 
this hard-on.

He closed his fingers around his masculinity, pulling 
back on his foreskin until the shiny red tip of his 
cock was exposed. Taking a firmer grasp, Morgan began 
stroking, sliding the foreskin back and forth over his 
slippery glans.  After just a few strokes, drops of 
pre-cum started to drip on the bathroom counter.

As he jacked off, Morgan relives the memory what he 
had just seen, his niece Tansy jilling in the bedroom, 
moaning about being milked.  He'd milk her all right, 
milk her good, and then give her the fate she wanted. 
Making a little money for himself on the side, that 
was just a bonus. He'd convert this heifer for fun.  

Pumping harder, Morgan felt his nut sack banging 
against the side of the counter, even as the cum 
swelled in his balls, anxious to break free from its 
confinement. His dick pulsed, once, twice and then, 
before he could reach for a tissue, the sperm shot 
violently from his cockslit, a vertical white 
waterfall splashing against the mirror a good foot 
away. 

Unable to stop, Morgan continued to pound away at his 
meat, coaxing two more strong spurts from his balls, 
before his ejaculations oozed to an end.  Hands sticky 
with residue, he did a quick rinse and dry before 
cleaning off the mirror, wiping away the snail trails 
made by his cum sliding down the glass.  Two more 
tissues did for the puddles on the counter. 

Opening the bathroom door, Morgan discovered a totally 
dark hall with no inviting glow radiating from Tansy's 
room. Just as well her door's closed, he thought, my 
pecker will be sore enough tomorrow, it'd probably 
fall off if I abused it anymore tonight. Pity to have 
wasted all that seed but at least that won't be 
happening any more. Tansy was ready for "the 
game."


TO BE CONTINUED IN 
THE MISS DAISY CHRONICLES
MAKING MISS DAISY
CHAPTER THREE: 
COMING CLEAN