Unknown - Driving Daisy Crazy

To reveal the longest, thinnest cock she has ever seen or heard tell of, a catheter of a prick.

Which even now shafts in, in, into her pussy.

She rocks from side to side, struggling against it, trying to get away from it.

She cannot.

Because the other two will not let her, clutching her legs, their grips painful now, on knees and ankles.

As he of the long, thin cock reams her pussy with his skyscraper of a prick.

She screams, wordlessly or perhaps for help, she is too terrified to listen to herself.

All to no avail.

She cannot protect herself.

She cannot move, cannot resist.

As he fucks her, on and on, to completion.

And promptly lets the hem of his robe fall as he gets off the bed and replaces the shorter, smaller figure at one side, who hands him the leg as though it were a baton in a relay race.

Shorter and smaller the second presence may be, in stature.

Not so his cock, however.

Which is a monster in every dimension.

Long and thick with a bulbous battering ram of a head, it bobbles, huge and stiff, before him, tenting his robe even before he lifts the hem to reveal it in all its obscene grandeur.

But she has not long to gaze upon it before it too is within her sperm-lubed pussy.

And he stretches and fills her as he pumps away, in and out, in and out, with powerful, piston-like regularity.

And there is no acceleration with him, as with the first one.

He hits his stride and maintains it, all the way.

Until he is coming and coming inside her, wad after wad of incredibly thick jism injecting itself deep in her vagina, only to film back out, forced by the volume of his load.

And now, he too covers his not yet detumescing cock with his robe and promptly gets off the bed to replace the third man, heavyset, looking frightening and immense, even more so than the others, in his dark, hooded robe.

Who hands off "his" leg quickly and, to her surprise, dives face first into her muff, with a hoarse exclamation, "Life!"

She can see only the peaked top of his hood, waggling at her as his jaws work.

She can feel his tongue, his lips, his mouth working, not to stimulate or gratify her, but to clean her out, to extract from her all the jism of the first two, on and in and around her pussy.

And only when he has gotten the last of their leavings inside himself does he himself mount up.

She catches the barest glimpse of the thick and thickly knobbed erection before it takes its "rightful" place, buried in her cunt to the hilt.

And now, she no longer cares to look at any of this nightmare, preferring instead to turn her head to one side, sobbing quietly, as he has his way with her.

So that she sees nothing as, with him still inside her, a cup of some kind covers her nose and mouth, causing her to inhale deeply, in panic.

And she is becoming dizzy, beginning to fade from consciousness.

So that she barely feels the mighty organ discharge its load deep inside her cunt before she loses consciousness.

Morning.

Daisy awakens.

And starts up in the bed, wide-eyed, at the sudden recollection of what happened here during the night.

Or did it?

Because her arms feel stiff, but there are no marks on her wrists, which she finds herself rubbing for no valid reason.

She throws the covers off herself. Naked, but that means nothing. She always sleeps naked, keeps only a robe handy, in case she must get up during the night.

During the night.

What the hell happened during the night?

Something?

Anything?

It had to be.

So vivid, so… real.

And yet, was it, after all?

Three hooded figures, two of them with what seemed to be parodies of reality, cock-wise, the third hauntingly familiar, what she could glimps of him, of it. And no faces.

How terribly convenient that their hoods should so completely conceal their faces.

She explores her cunt.

Clean as a whistle.

Douched out, just as it was when she retired last night, not before performing one last ablution to remove any possible residue of extract of Buck.

Outside, the sun is shining.

She glances over at the clock radio.

She's late!

Almost eight, it is.

And she must be up and about, adding water to the night's dew, so that it will soak into the garden before the sun's rays turn mud to clay.

Hastily, she goes through her morning toilette.

She throws on her sunbacked dress of the day before, not bothering to put anything on underneath.

No time.

She dashes through the dining room.

"Morning, morning, morning."

But does not pause for return greetings from the three surprised visages, mouths full of eggs and sausages, en passant.

With hose and sprinkling can, she is busy. Too busy to let the strange apparition, the dream of last night bother her, for the moment.

Hose into furrows as though they were irrigation ditches, for all but the basil.

Its seeds close to the surface for early sprouting, she must use the sprinkling can on these.

And now, the tomatoes must be draped with the muslin gauze before the sun is much higher, holding in the moisture, protecting the baby plants.

Only when she has finished does she go back into the house, into the kitchen, asking the cook for something to eat.

"Whatevair you wan', Meez Dezzee.

"Les autres, ils sont finis avec leur p'tit dejeuner, mais je peux vous pr-"

"Cereal and milk, Pierre, if it's not too much trouble."

Pierre makes a face at this non-challenge to his culinary skills, but sets the requested items before her, along with a pitcher of orange juice.

Daisy chews and thinks, chews and thinks.

Is she losing it? she wonders.

Is this strange new world proving too strange for her to handle?

How else explain last night, which obviously did not happen?

And yet, she does feel a little raw down there.

Perhaps that's it, she reasons.

A minor irritation in reality giving rise to a bad dream, its vividness guaranteed by a minor problem back here in the real world.

"Pierre?"

"Oui?"

"Is there some kind of, well… monastery around here?

"Some place where men wear robes with hoods?

"Ever see anybody like that near here?"

"No, ah think not, Meez Dezzee.

"No, for sure no monasteries aroun' ‘ere.

"Aneeweh, you are not eligible to join.

"You mus' become ze nun, no?"

"No. Definitely not.

"Just curious, is all."

"Ze Ordre of ze Seestairs of Charity ees jus' about a mile an' a half over tha-"

"No, no, forget I asked, okay?

"Just some crazy-never mind."

And she finishes her breakfast, feeling as though she has somehow said too much already.

"Sit down a minute, Daisy," Randy Buck says, looking at her with apparently deep concern.

He has caught her in the hallway and motioned her into his den.

"You look a bit haggard this morning, Daisy," he says.

"Didn't you sleep well last night?"

I wish I knew, she thinks.

Aloud, "Oh yes, perfectly. So well, in fact, that I was late getting up."

"So we noticed.

"But still, you needn't rush about so.

"There's no pressure here."

"From you, no; from the sun and the lack of rain, I'm afraid I can't agree.

"Not to talk myself out of a job, but this is neither the time of year or the weather in which to start a garden."

"Hey, sooner or later, I'm gonna have a first class garden.

"If not this year, then next."

"And in the winter time?"

"Funny you should mention that.

"Waddaya know about greenhouses, anyway?"

She shrugs.

"What's to know about them.

"Glass enclosure, mostly solar heat, different soil configuration and requirement, heavy plumbing and piping, good drainage-"