The Real Mother Goose

by Selena Kitt

  “Your gardens are stunning.” Mother smiled, leaning in to kiss the air next to Mary’s cheek and breathing in the smell of the thick auburn hair tumbling down her back—cinnamon and roses. “As always.”

  “You know the best is out back.” Mary gave her a wink over her shoulder as she led the way through the foyer, not letting go of Mother’s hand.

  “Blue is back there, now.” Mother squeezed the woman’s small bare hand in her gloved one.

  “Polly, put the kettle on!” Mary called toward the kitchen, offering Mother a seat on the settee. “Tea, Mother?”

  “I’m parched.” Mother put her handbag next to her, watching Mary sink her hand into the bobbed hair of a young girl kneeling next to her chair. She was a small thing, her breasts barely buds, her big, dark eyes focused on the floor in front of her. Mother’s eyes fell between the girl’s legs, noting with a smile her hairless slit. Mary was fond of shaving her girls.

  “Have you heard from Father?” Mary crossed one slender knee over the other, her silver, satiny skirt parting at the full front slit, from floor to crotch. Mother saw a glimpse of her curly red pubic hair with a smile—fond of shaving the girls, but never herself.

  “No.” Mother sighed. “He crossed over two months ago, and I haven’t heard a word since. Except for those three horrid men in that tub of a boat, who said they saw him near the portal.”

  “Oh, Polly!” Mary glanced up as the nude woman came in balancing the entire silver serving set on her head. “Must you do that? I have these visions—”

  Polly took the tray down, setting it on the table in front of the two women. “I haven’t ever dropped one, Mistress Mary.”

  Mary sighed, picking up the teapot and pouring. “Yes, sweet. I know. But there is always a first time for everything.”

  “You wouldn’t want to get scalded, Polly,” Mother agreed, dropping sugar cubes into her tea. Mary drank hers black, but Mother preferred hers sweet and creamy.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mother,” Mary replied, sipping her tea. “But Polly is quite proficient.”

  Mother pursed her lips, nodding. “So, Mary, dearest—” She looked at the red-haired woman over the rim of her teacup. “About what I came for?”

  Mary smiled, her eyes bright again. “Yes. Would you like to see them?”

  “Out back, I presume?” Mother clutched her handbag and stood with Mary.

  “They are still young yet,” Mary said as they made their way down several long corridors. “And I’m loathe to part with them, but goodness they are a great deal of work when they are grown. I just can’t keep them all.”

  Mary opened the door to a screened-in sunroom, and Mother heard them crying plaintively in the wooden box in the corner. She squatted down next to the box, peering over the side.

  “Oh, Mary!” Mother exclaimed, her voice soft. “Oh, aren’t they precious?”

  “I know.” Mary knelt down, too, reaching her hand in and plucking one up by the scruff of the neck. The little kittengirl mewed pitifully, and Mary cuddled it to her breast, smoothing her fingers over the black velvety ears. Mother watched as the human-like face turned up toward Mary’s stroking fingers, rubbing her head against the woman’s hand again and again. The little kittengirl was purring now.

  “How many did she have?” Mother glanced behind her at the full grown catwoman in the corner, stretched out on her side on the floor in the bright sunshine, her whiskers twitching, as if she were dreaming. She was a black and white beauty, her fur dark over her back and arms, white patches on all four of her padded paws, like little boots, and at the tip of her tail. Her belly was nearly bare, smooth and soft, her human-like breasts full with milk for her tiny sucklings.

  “Fifteen, but there are only six left.” Mary handed Mother the little kitten-sized kittengirl. “The problem with breeding them is feeding them. She can’t feed her whole litter, so we have to pump the milk and feed them with droppers in shifts. Very time consuming.” Mary sighed, watching Mother as she dangled one of their string toys for the kittengirl, who batted at it playfully.

  “They are weaned now?” Mother frowned as she looked at the catwoman’s full breasts.

  “Oh, yes.” Mary plucked another from the box. She saw Mother’s eyes roaming over the black and white body of the kittens’ mother and she smiled. “I keep her breasts full now for my own reasons.”

  “Ah.” Mother returned her smile, lifting the kittengirl high into the air. This one had tiger-like markings. “The Tom was obviously orange.”

  “Yes,” Mary agreed. “So how many did you want?”

  “Three.” Mother watched the little kittengirls climb all over each other in the box. They were tumbling together, mewling and jumping. “How can I choose?”

  She finally made a decision, two girls and one boy. The girls were similar to their mother, one with markings almost exact, the other completely black except for a white patch at her throat. The boy was an orange tiger like his father.

  “Will you breed them?” Mary asked, getting a separate crate and putting the three kittens inside, closing the lid. Their little paws reached out the slatted sides, and they tried to fit their heads through.

  “Perhaps.” Mother let the little orange Tom latch into her finger with his claws.

  “Are you hungry, Mistress Mary?”

  Mother whirled at the delicate sound of the voice behind her, and saw the catwoman stretching, her claws extended. The woman was purring, a deep, rumbling sound.

  “No, Puss.” Mary smiled, walking over to smooth the woman’s fur. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Three more?” The catwoman sighed, looking at the smaller crate. She turned over onto her other side, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes again.

  “She doesn’t mind?” Mother whispered.

  Mary shook her head. “She doesn’t seem to.”

  “I didn’t realize they could talk!” Mother said.

  “They pick up human speech, just like children do.” Mary went to stand by the window. Mother followed her, leaning forward to breathe in the summer air, and spotted Blue out in the garden. She smiled as she saw him, turned away from her, his breeches down to his knees and his head thrown back as he rocked his hips.

  “Your garden is growing, Mary!” Mother exclaimed. “Can we go down?”

  “Of course, Mother.” Mary led the way out of the sun room and down the back steps. They walked the cobblestone path toward Mary’s garden, row upon row of glorious blooms, all with their lovely faces turned up toward the sun.

  “How many species do you have now?” Mother watched Blue’s back, hearing his moans.

  “Oh goodness, I’d have to ask Polly.” Mary smiled. “There are forty kinds of roses alone—and many, many other species besides. We just transplanted the daffodils and I’ve been very tender with them, although that one looks like it’s serving Blue quite well.”

  “Yes,” Mother breathed, moving forward along the path so she could see fully. The young daffodil’s delicate yellow center was bloomed wide open, revealing the human face inside, and Blue’s hard cock thrust happily into her open mouth. The dark green shoots of her leaves were wrapped around his calves and thighs, pulling him in. All around him, the other daffodils were watching, a few reaching their tender stalks far enough to lick his hip or thigh.

  There were dozens of types of flowers—high, proud tulips, fields of daisies, the petunias with their bright velvet colors and striped faces, fat mums and delicate calla lilies, all basking in the sunshine, much larger than their non-human counterparts. The rose garden stretched to their left, a vast expanse of color. The sunflowers were along the back of the garden, near the wall, their faces rising high above the rest of the flowers.

  “They really don’t mind?” Mother asked, her breath coming faster as she watched Blue’s face, his stiff, reddened member disappearing beneath the bright yellow hood of the flower. She had seen it before, but still, it held her spellbound.

  “Remember, it is f
ood to them,” Mary smiled. “They crave it. The roses are tricky, of course. The thorns. But there are ways.”

  “Do they have preferences?” Mother asked, hearing Blue cry out and thrust into the daffodil’s center, shuddering. He collapsed back onto the cool lawn, staring dreamily up at the sky. “Male and female, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mary nodded. “The daffodils love men, as you can see. I don’t keep many of those. The irises, though… they prefer women. Look, here.” Mary knelt, showing Mother the delicate face of an iris, the eyes such a bright blue they were nearly purple, reflecting her violet petals. The iris began licking Mary’s hand, her pink tongue lapping gently over her skin, sucking at the webbing between her fingers. Mother moaned softly as she watched.

  “Would you like to try Violet?” Mary asked. “While I feed her sister?”

  Mother watched as Mary parted her bright silver dress like a curtain in front, exposing her patch of red curls, moving to the iris next to the one she’d called Violet. This one had creamy white petals all around her face, her outer petals a darker blue. Violet looked longingly over as Mary spread pussy, watching her creamy faced sister begin to lap at the folds of flesh.

  “Come, Mother.” Mary nodded toward the envious Violet. “Come feed her.”

  Mother watched as the blue iris bent her head forward, her green stalks wrapping around Mary’s creamy white thighs. Mary moaned, rolling her hips and sliding her hands up to cup her breasts. The Violet iris nuzzled Mother’s crotch, pulling at the lace material of her skirt.

  Mother lifted her layers, exposing herself in the sunlight, and Violet sighed in delight, leaning in toward her. The petals around the iris’ face seemed to undulate against Mother’s belly and hips, softer than anything she’d ever felt. When a sweet, wet tongue probed its way between her lips, she moaned, feeling the soft prickle of the flower’s stalks moving around her legs.

  The iris was much stronger than Mother would have imagined, pulling her in tightly and nuzzling her flesh with fervor. It truly felt as if the flower were feeding off of her, sucking and lapping at her slit, looking for more of her juices. Mother was happy to comply as the little tongue focused right against her clit, moving expertly over that spot again and again, as if the iris knew exactly what to do to make her pussy flow.

  Mother looked over at Mary, moaning and writhing now in the grip of the dark blue iris, bucking her hips. The green of the stalks had moved underneath Mary’s dress and she saw them working over her breasts and nipples. Mother wished she had worn something less confining, but she cupped and rubbed her breasts through her blouse, moving against the incredible softness of Violet’s petals.

  Mother heard Mary coming and glanced over, seeing her body shaking, quivering against the little flower’s face. Mother wasn’t going to be far behind—she felt her own orgasm approaching, and the violet beauty between her legs seemed to know it, flicking her tongue faster against Mother’s clit.

  “Oh god!” Mother cried, her climax overtaking her. As she came, she felt the flower’s tongue snake deep inside of her, drinking her juices with a hungry mewling sound. Even when Mother had collapsed onto her back on the ground, the flower’s head stayed bent and bound to her pussy, the tongue buried deep inside, the petals undulating against her flesh.

  A flushed Mary came over to help Mother stand, nudging the flower gently back. Violet’s face was glistening with Mother’s juices, her eyes glazed. She looked as sated as Mother felt.

  “My goodness, Mary,” Mother murmured, reaching out to touch the face of the flower who had brought her such pleasure. The little tongue lapped at her, lazy now, but loving. “So many pretty maids, all in a row.”

  “Next year, perhaps you’ll take some seedlings of your own.” Mary linked her arm with Mother’s as they walked back up the cobblestone path. Mother’s legs felt wobbly, and she was glad for the other woman’s support. She noticed Blue was gone from the lawn.

  “Perhaps,” Mother murmured, looking back over her shoulder at the garden. “Although I think I will have my hands full for a while with those kittens.”

  “Yes,” Mary agreed. “Now, about payment. Perhaps we can work something out. Peep is quite something.”

  “Isn’t she just?” Mother smiled, squeezing Mary’s hand. “Yes, I think you can have my little pet for these adorable kittens. It’s a fair trade.”

  Mother saw Blue in the kitchen, talking to Polly. “Besides, we have a visitor coming just this week. A little Miss Muffet. Between her and the kittens, I don’t know that I’d have time for poor little Peep.”

  “That works out then,” Mary said happily, climbing the stairs and opening the back door.

  “I don’t know why they call you contrary, Mary,” Mother whispered, kissing the woman on the cheek as she stepped up.

  Mary turned her face toward Mother and returned her kiss, fully and deeply, on the lips. “It’s just the men,” Mary whispered. “Most don’t understand the ways of flowers.”

  “Is that so?” Mother’s mouth curled into a smile.

  “You will come back and visit me soon, won’t you, dearest?” Mary whispered, tracing a finger along Mother’s full lips.

  Mother leaned in to kiss her again, and she thought Mary tasted just like a garden of flowers. “Yes, darling. I surely will.”

  The two women continued into the house, arm in arm.

  Chapter Four

  The Queen of Hearts

  The Queen of Hearts

  She made some tarts

  All on a summer’s day…

  “Willie, where is my red corset?” Mother called loudly, sweeping aside the clothes in her wardrobe as she began going through them again, one at a time.

  “Is this it, Mother?” Muffy picked up a corset from a pile on the bed.

  “Ah, there is it!” The nude woman made her way over to the young girl, slipping her fingers under her chin and petting her there with a smile. “Thank you, dearest.”

  “Willie!” Mother called again, impatient, slipping into the corset and looking into the mirror as she adjusted it over her curves. “Where is he?”

  “I can lace you, Mother,” Muffy offered, sliding off the big bed, her pink babydoll nightgown slipping up her thighs and revealing the newly shaved mound underneath.

  Mother’s eyes lingered there for a moment and she smiled, turning and offering her back to the girl. “Thank you, darling.”

  The girl’s hands were expert—she had done this often in the past month—pulling the older woman’s stays tight as she worked her way up. The corset left Mother’s full breasts as exposed as the dark triangle of hair was between her thighs.

  “My stockings.” Mother sat on the bed while Muffy retrieved them from the drawer. The red fishnets slid up over her long, slim legs, and she stood to let the younger girl fasten the garters and straighten her seams.

  “You don’t usually wear this color, Mother,” Muffy remarked, her little fingers working the last garter fastener.

  “No,” Mother agreed, taking a long, white, see-through lace peignoir from her wardrobe and slipping it over her shoulders. She buttoned the middle two buttons, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark nipples poked the fine lace, and her bush was visible when she walked. Perfect. “Have you seen my red boots?”

  “No, Mother,” Muffy replied.

  “Willie!” Mother called again, giving an exasperated sigh. “Where is he?”

  “Are you going somewhere, Mother?” Muffy asked, still kneeling on the floor.

  “We are, precious,” Mother said, patting the soft, blonde curls framing the girl’s pink cheeks. “And we are going to have to dress you, as well.”

  “Me?” Muffy looked up with wide, blue eyes.

  The door burst open and Willie came in dragging one of Mother’s kittengirls by the scruff of her neck. She was clawing at him.

  “I apologize, Mother,” the little man said, struggling with the hissing cat girl. He had a long, angry red scratch across his cheek. “Ev
e here lost her mittens again.”

  “Tsk tsk,” Mother murmured, taking the cat girl from him and cradling her. The three kittens she had taken from Mary had grown as quickly as she said they would. This kittengirl was nearly taller than Willie now. She was more like a small child than a cat. “What am I going to do with you?”

  The catgirl began to purr, nuzzling her soft black ears against Mother’s neck and chin, her rough kitty tongue licking the woman’s cheek.

  “Willie, I need my red boots,” Mother explained, unhooking the kitten’s claws from her lace peignoir. “And we’ll need a red babydoll nightie for Muffy—but no panties. I want to show off her sweet little mound.”

  The girl’s eyes were wide, her face crimson. “Wh—where are we going, Mother?”

  “To visit the Queen of Hearts,” Mother said, her eyes bright. “We are going to have a wonderful afternoon, darling.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Willie said pulled a pair of tall red boots from Mother’s closet. “Shall I call Blue for the carriage?”

  “Yes.” The woman smiled, taking the high-heeled boots and sliding one of them on. The catgirl stretched out on her back on the stone floor, exposing her human belly and budding breasts. “And Willie? Can you take Eve back to her siblings?”

  The little man grasped the catgirl’s pink collar. She mewed, but followed him readily enough now. “Yes, Mother.”

  —

  “Now, remember, Muffy,” Mother reminded her as the carriage pulled through the gates. “You curtsy for the Queen, just as I taught you. Remember always to call her ‘Your Majesty.’ And never, ever correct her if she says something, especially if it’s about a color.”

  “Color?” Muffy’s smooth brow creased and her little nose wrinkled.

  “Yes,” Mother remarked, pulling on her gloves. “The Queen has a rare form of color blindness—she can see red, and a few other variations, but not many.”

  The carriage door opened, and Blue held his hand out, helping Mother down. There were many carriages parked already, the horses nickering and pawing the ground in the sunshine. They could hear music and the sound of laughter.