She pushed open the door to the kitchen where her daughter, Paula, was stirring a bowl of Coco Pops with a spoon. “Is the pheasant there?” Paula ...sked. “Yes,” said Heather, as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the jug. “Not the boy pheasant, though. One of his girlfriends.” “Oh!” said Paula, disappointed. “I like the boy pheasant best. He’s pretty!” Heather sat next to her daughter by the kitchen table. Over the sound of The Fimbles on the television, whose morning adventures. Marilla sighed in exasperation.“David, go take her home,” the head chef commanded. “Clean yourself up. Make sure Sheila’s okay, and don’t leave her until you’re certain, do you understand? I can get some other servers in for the day.”She waved her red hands impatiently, dismissing them.David nodded seriously. He bent down and, while trying vainly to not look, drew Sheila’s skirt back down over her ass and lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled back, blonde curls spilling over his arm.. More

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