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From: Joseph Geryon <eurytion@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Making Miss Daisy 1 (Human Chattel)
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Date: Sun, 19 Sep 2004 22:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Making Miss Daisy 1.txt" begin>

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-mirror.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.
<1st attachment end>


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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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